


Talking to the Mirror

by Crucifixation



Category: Taxi Driver (1976)
Genre: 1970s, Anddd he's rather disturbed and politically incorrect, Animal Death, Anti-Hero, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Brutal Murder, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Crazy, Creepy, Dark, Dark Comedy, Depression, Diary/Journal, Disorganized Speech, Drugs, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Funny, Gun Violence, Guns, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, In Character, Isolation, Just a regular dude in a big city, Loneliness, Male Protagonist, Mental Anguish, Mild Gore, Military, Murder, Narcissism, New York City, Nighttime, Not for the thin-skinned, Paranoia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Philosophy, Politics, Porn Watching, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Racism, Rambling, Randomness, Sad, Schizophrenia, Self-aware character, Sex in a Car, Sexism, Slice of Life, Snark, So yeah, Some Plot, Some sweet moments, Something Made Them Do It, Suicidal Thoughts, Taxis, Trauma, Travis' poor grammar, Unreliable Narrator, Vietnam War, Violence, What Have I Done, Which means Travis sort of thinks he's better than everyone else, just for fun, kinda stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 264,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crucifixation/pseuds/Crucifixation
Summary: Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against AO3, FanFiction.net, Wattpad, LiveJournal, Tumblr. Here is someone who stood up. Here is...
Relationships: Travis Bickle/Betsy, Travis Bickle/OC
Comments: 86
Kudos: 253





	1. Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> For all the walking contradictions.

August 29, 1976

My name is Travis.This is my journal.These are my thoughts.

This writing experiment of mine will most likely not get any hits.I expect it.I also expect to be buried in a small grave with no flowers or visitors.I am God’s lonely man.

If you did so happen to click on this story, then thanks.

If you are expecting a grand adventure, then turn back now.This is not that kind of story.

If you are expecting a random mess of edgy wording for shock value created by a first-world teenager with nothing better to do, then leave.This is not that kind of story.

If you are expecting a romance to make you squeal like a girl’s first time getting porked, then shoo.This is not that kind of story.

And if you are expecting a homosexually-fueled paradise of unrealistic anal sex between me, a character in my movie, and/or another random fictional character (though I am very real) with cliche’s and cum like a damn cinnamon roll’s icing galore, then go to your local porno theater.This is not that kind of story.

You may have come from that recent movie, Joker, I believe it was called, that I had a hand in.Well, I think I did.I don’t know much nor am I that interested in comics, but I do know the Joker character reminded me of myself.It was fairly good.I hate that loser, damn, what was his name? Oh—yeah—Robert DeNiro (or De Niro)—and was glad he got shot in the face at the end.I would have done the same.Drive, Nightcrawler, American Psycho…they took from me too.How do I know this? Like I know government secrets…but I won’t tell you.

I mean, I don’t wanna sound arrogant or nothin.I know my place in history.If I had gotten away with killing Palantine (name reminds me of some kind of medicine a doctor would force on you) I would be even more significant.Unfortunately I also encouraged something bad that happened with President Reagan.I think Jodie Foster looks a lot like Iris. What do you think?

Fuck, the phone is ringing.Wait—can I curse?I know there are probably lots of young girls reading this, ya know, being fan-fiction (or is it spelled Fanfiction?) Women like this shit.Sorry, I swore again.I really try to be a gentleman and treat every lady with respect, that is if they deserve it.I don’t want to talk to anyone, especially not talking on the phone.It’a a real chore, I tell ya what.I hope it’s not Betsy. Sometimes I still imagine that she’s calling me repeatedly, begging for me to return to her.But I won’t.Maybe one day I will return to Mother and Father.But not her.They have _touched_ her.

I was just looking at the torn, captured Viet Cong flag in my apartment when I almost dozed.I have to stay awake.I have to this time.I need to work.A man becomes his work, and I have become a bonafide cab driver.That’s what Wizard tells me, anyway.I guess I’ll swig down some peach brandy and get my hands back on the wheel…the only place I can feel a piece of belonging.Oh right, and I am a hero now.A hero…hero, hero, hero.I like that word.

I’m craving pizza.New York-style, of course; one of the only things this God-forsaken city can make, and make well.Maybe they’ll have it at the diner me and the other taxi guys eat at sometimes.I hope Charlie T doesn’t try to pat my shoulder again.

Thanks again for clicking on this story.

T. Bickle


	2. Lights

August 30, 1976

Charlie T touched my shoulder.Of course.I hate it.

It hadn’t been a busy night, last night.I drove some passengers yet I mostly remembered how bright each city light was, and I couldn’t decide if it was something comfortable, or if I wanted to smash each and every one of them.I’m very sensitive to lights and sounds, I’ve noticed.I guess because of Nam.I still flinch here and there when I shoot off a gun.

The diner was mainly empty except for my friends: Wizard, Charlie T, and Doughboy.They were chatting and laughing in our usual place.I paid for my food and joined them, forcing a smile like a normal person.Who am I kidding, I am a normal person.I am the most normal person you will ever meet.If you say you can’t relate to me, you’re lying.I’m just saying.

Wizard is the oldest and most know-lidge-able (did I spell that right? I need one of those thesauruses or somethin), with years in the taxi business.I like him and respect him the most.Doughboy loves money, and trying to sell me shit.Charlie T I haven’t known as long as the other two, but he’s a nice guy.I suppose.I don’t want him to touch me, though.

They greeted me with a “Travy Boy!” And “What’s up, Killer” as I began eating my rather cold pizza slice.We all asked each other how the business was tonight.“So-so.”We then all asked how the other was doing.“So-so.”But the sentimentality was over quick.Wizard dove into a story about a fat passenger as he also dove into his chicken soup.At one point I noticedit dripping off his chin and thought it was gross.I didn’t say nothin, though. 

“I mean, this cat was so huge he should’ve taken the fucking bus instead. He’d take up two seats, I bet, but at least he’s not getting his big, sweaty asscheeks on my cab,” raved Wizard.

“How do you even let yourself get like that?” Chimed in Doughboy.

“No self-control, man.It happens to broads every time they get married, it’s incredible,” Wizard responded.I laughed at that.

“Not everyone looks like Travis, here.Works out and still looks a fucking Auschwitz victim,” he then said.Now it was the other guys that laughed.

I just smiled and sipped on some water.I know what my body looks like—I’m well aware.It’s not like I tried to work my ass off getting in shape, or anything.Yet for some reason, I’m always getting told by other men how skinny I am, usually meant in a mocking kinda way.Even in my youth, boys would make fun of me for having a “girl body.”I would often hear how I looked like the wind would carry me away, or adults would ask if I was sick.Girls would say stuff too.It wasn’t my fault I was naturally thin.At least I didn’t look like my mother.One boy taunted me with his finger in my face and so I bit him.I mean I bit the tip of his finger right off.It reminded me of a carrot and I tasted the blood and flesh.My father beat me real good for that one, but at least now they knew I was stronger than I looked.I always have been.

I had to learn to be mentally strong too, something the Marines taught me well.Sometimes people still call me crazy when clearly the only one crazy is them, and their crazy rubs off on me like it was genital warts.I get picked on a lot.One young woman in particular named Christina works at the place where a lot of us taxi drivers go to get our cars fixed.She’s very mean and insults me in the lowest of ways every chance she fucking gets.The funny thing is, she herself is quite skinny and petite, complaining about being cold every chance as well.The other funny thing is that she’s apparently very quiet and keeps to herself…until I come around.Who the hell knows why.

Their very _hetero_ conversation on men’s bodies went on as I just stared at the street light outside.It’s way too bright.I don’t like it.I pretended to shoot at it in my mind.

“Travis, did ya hear me?” Doughboy suddenly asked.I turned my head to look at him.“Yeah.Wait, say that again?”Doughboy looked annoyed and repeated, “I said, I have a passenger in my car, so I’ll get back to you about that lamp later.”Lamp? I thought.I just nodded.“Yeah, yeah, fine. Night.” “ _Morning_!” Wizard said.True, it was actually the early morning hours.But by this point I can hardly tell.If it’s dark and I’m awake, it’s nighttime.

That’s when Charlie T grabbed my shoulder and laughed.“Don’t cry, Travis.We’re just teasin’ ya about your skin and bones, boy.”I responded, seriously, “I don’t cry.”He laughed again and left.I stared at him as he left, like he was a turkey and it was hunting season for me.Like back in the Midwest…those were the days.Who’s skin and bones now?

Oh wow sorry, didn’t mean to go off like that.Like I said, I am completely normal.

It’s weird—I try to understand my fellow men, I do, but sometimes I feel out of place even with them.I know they call other guys “boy” and poke shots at their weight because they have it in their head that will make them more of a man.They drink and smoke and go on about fucking like that will uplift their status among men.To me it just shows how weak they actually are.They focus on this new modern evolutionary pagan bullshit that the more tough the show you put on, the higher you get placed on the pedestal of society.But I think they look like the peacocks I see on those nature shows on television.Pretty, pretty peacocks.Just like turkeys.

*Pow!*

Women also continue to like me so it doesn’t matter.After saving a child hooker (have you other men done that? I don’t think so), I have been approached far more often and told how brave and incredibly handsome I am.It’s quite flattering.If I continue to improve myself, I bet I could get any woman in this city…but I wouldn’t, because obviously I’m not that sort of man.I only have myself to be concerned with.And I still get mocked.I don’t understand.


	3. Because It Feels Good

September 10, 1976

Night.It’s always night.

Even when I wake up and the sun peers through my small apartment windows, it manages to be night.You see, night is not just a time, it’s a state of mind.It’s a state of never-ending dark cycles that welcomes you and then rejects you in the same line of thought.Most people like the nighttime.It has become my purgatory.It’s like a punishment, yet I thrive in it.

My night shift tonight has started.I cruise up and down streets, Manhattan to Brooklyn, evenup to Rochester.I could have easily become a doctor, a mayor, or a banker, but this is the life I have.Then there’s the passengers: men, women, families, whites, blacks, and every freak in between.One man I just dropped off I had to let out because he needed to puke—he wasn’t even drunk.There’s so many more cab stories I could tell, but I won’t haunt you with those details.

When I first arrived for my shift, a new driver was checking in the same time I was.He’s one of those Indians, I believe, and his hair has gone grey.Lots of Indians and Muslims have been joining the taxi business lately.They tend to have strong accents and smell differently.The only Indians I met growing up were those on the nearby reservations.

The grey-haired man stopped to wave and greet me.“Hey,” he said in an accent that I fought to snicker at.“Hey.” I lazily waved back.

“I like your car.It is so clean.I am new, but my car is, not good, not good.It is not clean.”

I said, “Uh, thanks.Yeah, you have to take good care of your car because those that make them won’t.”

“Uh, yes, yes.Anyway, my name is Ranbir.And you? Could you give me a few pointers, perhaps? I need to make good money for my family right now.”He had surprisingly good English.

“Hello Ranbir, welcome to the business.I’m Travis.May I ask how’s your family doing?” I think that’s how you handle conversations like this, right? I’m not the best at, uh, conversing.

“Well…It can be hard to feed my three children properly.My wife was…well, she um…she died.She can no longer cook for them.Two boys and one girl, they love it here.” He smiled despite his sad brown eyes.

“How did she die?” I knew it was a nosy question, but I was myself procrastinating to get into the taxi for work.Also, who the hell brings a family to this place?

After an awkward silence, almost as if he didn’t hear me, he finally said, “Killed,” solemnly, swallowing hard, and looking at the pavement below.

I cocked my head and said, “My condolences.I-“ But before I could finish, he suddenly spoke rapidly and emotionally: “She was beautiful, Travis sir.She came over to America with me hand in hand.I never let go of that small hand until the day…the day I lost her.A drunk driver hit her right where she was walking. They never caught dis man…”

My face became firm.“Where? Where was she hit?” I asked.

“Well, on her body sir, but I don’t-“

“No, I mean where in the city did the car hit her? Did they tell you? Do you remember?”

“Why?” He was now starting to back closer to his cab, concerned.

“Just tell me, Ranbir. Please. We all tell each other _everything_ here, don’t ya know? It’s policy.”

“Somewhere on Fordham (he pronounced it as “foured-him”) Road in the Bronx, I think? I can’t say the street…never mind…I will go now…” Upset, he rushed into his cab, waved again, and drove out of the lot.

“Thank you, Ranbir.” I said calmly to myself (at least I think it was to myself, sometimes I confuse the voices from my mouth with the orchestra in my head) not a single expression on my face, but purpose among those voices running circles around me.

A slow smile appeared on my face and my eyes stared in front of me, unblinking, as I started driving.I don’t know what I was lookin at, honestly, but I knew it was something good, like chocolate to a kid or a dead hooker to a politician.

I watched the city as I drove.The city has hardly changed since last year, when I…took some trash out.The city is still clogged with muck and blood and grime and cum.The urine of the most defiled areas still burns my eyes if I happen to open my door.Poofs, pimps, whores, liars, cheaters, swindlers, murderers, thieves, cum-guzzlers, and kiddy-fiddlers still roam, but they seem to like hiding a little more now.They know I roam right along with them.

From what I hear mob members have even been caught recently.I would love nothing more than to catch them myself and feed them to the animals.Watch them rip each other apart in this drainage pit of great ol’ America.There’s a “Bicentennial” going on.In other words, another excuse for drunkards, the entitled who have never seen real carnage in their life, and fake patriots dancing around in hats instead of yelling “baby-killer” to their own soldiers like they were not too long ago on the streets.Many-a stars and stripes I’ve seen just in this past year.I think a real patriot defends, though.I bet the early Americans would agree with me.

Sorry, I’m sounding like those dumbass negative Nancy ni-hill-ists again.I promised myself I’d be more positive.But how do I escape these night thoughts?

Jesus, this fucking cab smells like cigarette smoke.I coughed and rubbed my eyes.Fuckin smokers man.This whole place, indeed this country, reminds me of a constipated gut.Like when you’re so backed up with shit it hurts like spines in your stomach, and you just want to disembowel yourself and watch every piece of disgusting toxic waste splatter and writhe in front of you like giant greasy maggots.It’s a release.Sometimes there needs to be a big bout of pain to empty all the rotten contents of inflamed bowels.

I can’t even imagine the vices this city still holds.Behind the lights, designs, and attractions, are an underbelly of cockroaches who feast on the fat of the sinful golden cow.People who like fucking corpses or literal skull-fuckers, people who like fucking animals, people who like stuffing garbage up their pussies, people who steal, or tax, which is basically theft, people who hit, burn, rape, overwork their kids like they were personal slaves, women who use and abuse men and men who use and abuse women.Politicians like Palantine, who probably do things so unheard of to us “commoners” it would start a new revolution if we ever found out.There’s a Bicentennial celebration for ya.The walking dead.

I know I’m a sinner just as much as anyone else.So all those in heaven and on earth, please forgive me.

Sometimes I wonder why I think about these horrible things.Maybe I’m depressed.No! That’s negative, Travis, you know it.Change your mindset already.Why do I though? Why do I think about it? Why do I do the things I’m about to do for Ranbir? Why do I stress my own soul? Why do I purposefully go out to these waters, the ones so bad, so dangerous even the bravest cab drivers don’t dare go, and willingly look at the scum swimming around me? Why do I do this to myself? Oh Lord, why?

I think I know the answer.I have no idea why I’m smiling again.


	4. Rain, Rain

September 21, 1976

Finally, it was time to at least try to put my plan into action and get my hands dirty.I had come prepared: my needed guns were stored safely, I had eaten, I worked out, I had showered (I always get cold, choppy ones from the tiny bathroom in my apartment—I really need to move), I had talked motivation into myself, I stretched and cracked my body, I was wearing a new jacket, and I already smelled blood on my trail like a dog or a shark.I was ready to hunt.

I’ve actually managed to get more guns since last year, right under the state’s nose.I follow laws unless they interfere, as they do in this case.I need guns to protect myself and others. 

Oh, and I really like guns.Really, really like guns.I wonder how Easy Andy’s doin? Probably selling weapons to the Afghanis by this point.

Before leaving my apartment I turned off the TV, where I had been watching reruns of “The Rifleman” before the broadcast day ended.I also filled in a crack in my wall and replaced an edging in my window.This does not take me long.I’m actually faster at it than the state is at fixing its own shithole.I then noticed a scuff on my favorite pair of boots and had to take care of that too.Now I’m ready.I checked the cab again for my wooden club and made sure everything was working right.I did my best to remember the directions in my head, which I admit was a right bitch finding.So I began work, and didn’t talk to any of my passengers other than what was expected for formality.

After dropping off a kind old woman, I opened up the glovebox to get my vitamin D pill bottle.I had to make a lot of lifestyle changes for my health, other than just getting in shape.I now eat mostly meat and my favorite thing is a fatty, juicy steak, medium-well.I eat duck eggs instead of chicken eggs.I try not to drink Coke, only water and coffee.I don’t take any medications or drugs of any kind, but I had some random health problems that I finally figured out were likely a vitamin deficiency, so there ya go.I rehearsed the directions again, and then proceeded to turn off the meter, and turn on the “Off-Duty” light.

There were more cabbies than usual as the main parts of the city were especially noisy and bustling tonight; which was perfect for me.I wanted to pass through easily, unnoticed.I definitely have enough money by now for a new car but I haven’t found one I like yet.Besides, I’m still trying to save my cash right now, and I like walking, since driving is-yep! You guessed it! My job! Aren’t you just so smart!

The streets were becoming more and more run down, when finally I got to The Bronx.I never get lost or take wrong turns.One person almost hit me, though.I like to imagine that he died later that night from his own reckless driving.I turned onto Fordham Street, which was quieter than Times Square (color me shocked!).The last time I went to The Bronx I was sitting behind a large silver truck.Out of nowhere, the Latino drivers got out, threw down their hats and uniforms, pulled out tools and crowbars, and broke into the back of their own truck.They took out special packages and shot at the police that were just then coming around the corner.I don’t know where they went after that, but it remains my example image of The Bronx.It’s not that I don’t like Puerto Ricans or Dominicans, if anything I respect their family and work ethics, plus the owner of a store I like to go to is Puerto Rican.I can actually speak a bit of Spanish, and we have Spanish inside jokes with one another.I once shot a robber in there…fuck, sorry, you already know all this.What was I on about again? Oh yeah, this story here.

Fordham Street was wide, and surrounded with cafes, banks, apartment complexes, and homes that ranged from normal, lower-class, to shoddy.Most were decorated with Caribbean flags.It was like the further I got, the more the homes gave off a radiation of food stamps, Medicaid, and the tainting of free market economics mixing with coercive politics.There was still a lot of obviously poor people.So much for the “War on Poverty,” huh?Not that I’m an expert or anything ya know, I don’t own Wall Street, I just drive through it.

After some calculations, I stopped at a place where bars were nearby and cars sped by quicker.I got out of the cab.I would have to look around, go into buildings still open, and ask.Several people didn’t give me a straight answer except for one man, an owner of an antique shop still open, who told me he had seen the hit-and-run happen and believed that the man who did it was someone who always came in stinking of liquor and tried to break his items.I asked where he thought the man was from, and he said probably in one of the ground-level apartments in a place that I remembered being on the very outskirts of the city.I thanked him for this information and bid goodnight, but not before offering some green for his trouble.He refused the money, but did invite me to browse at his shop sometime, which he claimed had the best prices for the best value dressers.I said I’d think about it.There was a neat old dollhouse in there.I think dolls are interesting.

I walked around the streets for what seemed like…well, a long ol time.I looked under, over, and across roads and sewers and bricks and broken pavements.Then, I saw it.I reached under one jutting out slab of pavement to grab something from the side drain.It was a ball of tangled black hair, a tiny bit of scalp still attached, bunched up with a pretty fabric that looked exotic.This was matted with muck, but it was fresh.Looking around for anyone who could be watching (a few people who walked past wondered what I was doing), I quickly stuffed this evidence into a bag I was carrying.Suddenly, it was raining and raining hard.It pelted onto everything and I was soon soaked, my hair sticking to my forehead.I didn’t mind, though.I love the rain.At least this rain didn’t smell like acid and Agent Orange.I walked all the way back to my cab in the rain, imagining it washing away every last piece of filth from the atmosphere.I sat the fabric and hair on top of my money box in the seat next to me.Now it was like Ranbir’s wife was with me.“You truly have a heart of gold, Travis” I could hear her saying.I drove to the apartments the owner told me about, but not without first making a stop. 

Cemeteries can be beautiful, really.This one was especially tranquil because it was very old, with a Victorian-looking gate.I took out my flashlight and looked at the scattered, moss-covered tombstones through the gate as the rain was slowing down.So many people, so many different histories, but who know who actually gave a fuck about any of em.Sure, you had your families and memoriam-s or whatever, but who in this life really means it when they miss somebody?That they mourn them?At least they’re not genocide victims.You’re too busy living on this little place.The dead don’t care, I can tell ya that.While their corpses become animal food they’re off somewhere in a place we can’t even begin to imagine, where it’s either so blissful or so empty whatever happened here doesn’t matter anymore.Most of what we actually do on Earth is probably all just insignificant moving pictures in the actual grand show of time.That’s what I like to think anyway.It gives me at least some damn peace.That’s why I look forward to my death….no fear or dread.

I circled around the gate looking at names and dates.I went to the very back, where my real reason for coming came into my view.Maybe a part of me was also anxious about the rest of the night and I was stalling.Anyway, the very back corner of the graveyard had the grave of the man who was with Iris in the room before I gave him some holes in his face.I don’t know where Sport and the old pervert were buried, but I’m sure it wasn’t somewhere _hip_.This man though, still got his grave albeit a small one.The gravestone had bullet marks from target practice.There was also graffiti with…unkind words.I guess there were at least a few people aware of who he was.Then I saw something else on it and had to do a double take.What the??

Flowers? Motherfucking flowers on this bastard’s grave? I washed him away from this world and he still gets flowers? I don’t even get fucking flowers! My hands gripped the iron bars harder than a guy jacking it in a porno theater.I pulled out a tiny gun from my jacket and shot at the grave, which caused flower petals and dirt to scatter.It was like I was killing him again.

It took me a while to find the apartments in the dark, especially since I had no idea which apartment was his.I took out a compass, wished luck on it, kissed it, and threw it on the ground.The arrow pointed to the very end of the litter-trashed muddy road I was on.In the taxi, I opened my suitcase of guns.I picked out an automatic and a revolver for backup.The automatic can jam on you, but the revolver will always shoot.If my gun jams I want to be able to shoot you and beat your teeth out of your skull with the hard revolver.I also had another gun and a knife tucked away underneath my clothes.Also an explosive device, because ya never know.And rope, matches, tarps, nails, gasoline, acid, and a woman’s fancy coat she left in the backseat.I put on a pair of gloves and gripped my glock.I made sure the taxi was locked, but I knew I was taking a huge risk (though a necessary one) for it to be stolen. 

I walked to the end of the row of apartments that looked more like shacks.Dogs barked in the distance and I stepped on an array of things.The moon was barely covered by dark clouds.There was a slight whistle in the wind, which came about after the sprinkling stopped.The only light that was still on was in a cracked window where, I swear, from the sounds and shadows that were coming from it you’d think there was an orgy, or a sexually-fueled mass murder.Maybe both.I looked at each house closely, sometimes stepping over wire fences to get a better look.I didn’t get a particular feeling from any of them.Keep going, I told myself.Each apartment stared back at me like a broken, empty shell full of city grime.I knew I was in a section of New York’s underbelly.It was only me against the creatures now.

Then, there was an apartment with a ripped fence and a boarded door.A light was on in the top window, and overgrown moss covered the edges of the nailed shut bottom windows.There were odd brown stains on the steps.Carefully, I lightly stepped up these stairs and wiggled the door, which the boards blocked.

I got out my most durable knife and cut at the biggest cracks in the wood.When I had splintered it enough, I tugged hard and ripped the molding boards.I promptly used my fingers to remove the taped, broken lock.I slowly opened the door.

_Creaakkkk._

I gently used my knuckles to knock on it and whistled to get anyone’s attention.

Immediately, a strong stench, er, stenches, hit my face and nearly made me get back out the door.It was the smell of mildew, sweat, chemicals, burnt rubber, and human shit that got me in the first wave, but the second smell was the worst, and the one I most recognized.There’s stink, and then there’s dead human body stink.It’s like dead fish on fuckin crack: I smelled decomposing corpses.Covering my nose and mouth with the back of my hand, I squinted to look around.There was a large blood stain on a torn Persian carpet.The walls were peeling, and had traces of fungus and feces.I tried to step further when a wooden beam from the ceiling suddenly fell in front of me, almost hitting my face.This made me jolt back a bit, but only just a bit.I continued on.Sometimes I felt a “squishing” in the carpet.

I went into the main room and aimed my gun at the figures in it.The TV was on, but it was only static.I turned on the light.Three corpses laid out in various places across the room.One was on the floor, another was against the wall, and the other, with a skeletal face and a stomach about to burst, sat on the couch, head back, mouth open.

Their eyes were mostly missing and maggots and roaches were here and there.Mostly though, the flies were all over the food they had been eating, which was now barely recognizable as food.I peered into the kitchen, and saw a female body, as if asleep, and cooking equipment for hard drugs.It looked as if an explosion happened in that kitchen, and I couldn’t stay in there for long due to the lingering chemical substance still in the air.I went back and inspected the body against the wall.He still had a needle in his arm.His lips were split open.His veins looked like swollen brown pine needles.I’m sure they all three wet themselves.It’s what happens.A sudden memory came over me that was far worse than any smell could ever do.I pushed it back into my head.Not tonight, dammit.

I soon concluded that some kind of chemical leak from the kitchen, maybe even the vent I don’t know, flooded the rest of the house while these junkie freaks were resting.It killed them.They had to have already been close to death anyway.I mean, they were in one sorry state, but come on.This is disgusting.All of it is completely, absolutely, utterly disgusting.Fucked up people. 

Still, rest in peace.

I finally walked into the last room, where I saw a very, very sad sight.There was a crib, with the Winnie the Pooh pillow still set perfectly in it.A moth-eaten blanket covered what appeared to be a tiny figure.And then even bigger figures, lots and lots of them! I peeled back the blanket.

Rats!

Huge rats, like the kind you heard about on the news, were crawling and squeaking everywhere.Scritching and scratching, tails flailing.They appeared to be feasting on something, so I used my gun to beat them off. 

It was a baby, but there was no longer much of a face.His little stomach was bloated, but the fingernails were intact.He was gray and splotchy, with ripped holes in his flesh where maggots made a home.I began to reach for the body, hesitated, reached, paused, and with my eyebrows furrowed tensely, finally picked up the baby.I squeezed it, and more maggots came writhing out.It was depressing, to say the least.I picked out one of the maggots and watched it wriggle in my finger.I studied how the open flesh looked.I put the body back down, shooed the rats once more, and covered it back up with the blanket.Poor kid.

One rat was trying to chew my boot.When it started to run away, I caught its tail under that same boot.For a while I just watched it squeal and squirm.I then swiftly pinned its head under the flat head of my boot.I almost let it go, as I wiped tears from my eyes, which I had just now noticed were there.I don’t if I was crying without even knowing it or the smells and chemicals of the place were causing havoc to my eyeballs, but yeah.I then took a large stomp and crushed its head and neck with one blow.It immediately stopped screeching and what was left of its head appeared.Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt it—it was a quick kill.Too bad the baby’s death probably wasn’t so quick.

I promptly left the death house, anger rising in me.

I got back into my cab, closed my eyes, folded my arms, and sighed deeply.I leaned my arm on the console and rubbed my forehead.Where is he? Where is this driver?

I glanced up at the mirror, catching a glimpse of my tired eyes.I also caught a glimpse of someone nearing my window.It was a bony figure getting closer and closer to the car.Then there was a loud crash and a loud splash as a beer bottle hit the window.“Heyyy!! Geeett outta there boy! I wanna take a drive toooo!” He peed on the taxi! “Lil’ yellow cab is yellower! Huh! I just *hiccup* I just love those checkers, man.” His voice sounded gravelly but high-pitched, and I could already tell from a street light that he had to be another junkie with his thin shape and red bumps.I could also see that he was drunk as a skunk.

He ran a key down the checker pattern, scratching it all up.He tore off a small body panel of the cab.I would not allow my taxi to be abused like this.I stepped out and confronted him. 

“The hell are you doing?” I raised my arms in disbelief.He slurred: “You..you sho-*hiccup* shouldn’t be here my man.This here’s myyy town.”

I tried to calm him down, but when I attempted to touch him, he punched me right in the face! I stumbled back onto the taxi and saw stars for a very brief moment.I guess there’s that skinny man strength I was talkin about.

“TRY TO FUCKIN TOUCH ME AGAIN LITTLE CABBIE BITCH!!” He yelled, and then used a broken beer bottle to try to cut my throat while I was dizzy.

I instinctively grabbed the wound to stop the bleeding.Then I punched him right back in the jaw with an uppercut.He was knocked to the ground.We continued hitting back and forth (though he missed here and there) until he grabbed my own gun out of the holster.He yanked the collar of my shirt and pinned me to the ground, gun pointed at my face.He breathed heavily, gasping, “The best part of the night so far! Now let’s hear you squeal, boy.”I managed to twist his arm out of the way, and the gun slid out of his hand and skidded across the sidewalk.I pulled out the revolver, and began beating his teeth in.This only worked for a minute because he spat blood back in my face and stuck his finger into my cut.“Achh!”

I tried to gouge out his eyeballs with my own fingers, which caused him to grunt loudly in pain.Now that he was squirming, I stood up, wobbling and wincing, and pinned him down by stepping on his junkie-juiced arm.I was in fight mode now, and my heart pumped with a need for violence.I stomped hard on his skeletal arm, hearing the sickening crack on his bones splintering.From what I heard, he was the squealer after all.He reminded me of the rat. 

When I stepped off of him, he tried one last time to get up, and proceeded to puke on me and my new jacket.Yuck.He stumbled over and grabbed my glock.He then pointed it at me in the wrong way.I raised my hands. 

“Look, this is ridiculous.Let’s just, let’s just breathe for a minute and talk about all this, man-to-man.Bar lover to car lover.Huh? Whaddaya say?”

“Why would I talk to you? I don’t know your ass. How ‘bout instead you gimme your fucking money.”

Now, getting robbed or assaulted was a constant threat to any taxi driver, and I always took this to mind every day.But I needed this rat to stay.I needed him to confess.

“Clearly you want to talk or else you would have shot me by now.But here you are still, pointing, panting, and jabbering on.”

He looked at me with a mix of anger and confusion, and then suddenly dropped the gun.He grabbed onto his limp arm with misery, and began crying. 

“Shhh.” I comforted him with my most soothing voice.“Just come and talk to me, man.I want to help you.”I helped him walk over to the edge of the empty sidewalk.There weren’t many people out here, were they? We sat under the street lamp.Now I could see more of him.He had long, dirty blonde hair, matted down.His beard was grimy and full of knots.He only had one eye, which I think was green.The other eye was almost entirely closed shut, which I wasn’t sure was from drugs, an STI, a black eye from some bar fight he had, or it was actually removed.Whatever the case, it made me more impressed with how well he handled himself in a fight considering all that’s against him.“Talk to me,” I repeated.He cried and shook his head violently.I offered up a chunk of change from my wallet and said again, “Talk to me.”

He stared at it.“Richie Rich!” He exclaimed and greedily grabbed the roll.

Before I knew it he was going on about how crazy his night was (tell me about it), how he missed his wife who was also out drinking, how he wanted out of his life cycle, and how lonely he was.“I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”He started shaking his head. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.I don’t wanna be drinking anymore.I’m tired of these poisons in my body, they make me sick.And now my wife won’t talk to me neither.I know she’s out sleeping with somebody.Fucking slut.Fucking sLUT. *sob.* I love her so much tho-tough.I love her. I’m all alone.”

I really felt for him here, and tried awkwardly to pat his back.He just glared at me.I said, “I know just how you feel.Really, I do.The poisons, women, loneliness…it haunts me too, it does.The best you can do is try to find something to distract you, or give you reason, at least not make you feel like you’re just a useless piece of shit in this hellish state passed off as living.”

Suddenly he started laughing, which kinda startled me.Right there he confessed, “I killed her.Hahaha I fucking slayed her, man!! Some curry muncher bitch.Right on Fordham.” He waved his hand.“I didn’t mean to, honestly yo I didn’t, but there she was, standing like a goddamn retard in the middle of the street.I hit her. I mean I wrecked her.”He continued to laugh, and then cried again.“I lov-loveee herr ya know? I just love her so much!” I didn’t even know who he was talking about at this point, and I scooted from the psycho a bit. 

“Murder gets you jailed.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, no shit, bit-bitch.”

I continued.“I have, like, this weird fear of prison.I mean I guess everyone does to some extent, but I seriously don’t like that thought.Surrounded by scum, nowhere to run or hide.And oof, the rape, I would NOT want that.That would hurt.”

He looked at me with an odd expression.

“But you, well, I can see it happening to you easily.So don’t you worry, I won’t snitch on you or nothin.I mean that skinny body, the long hair, they’d have a field day.”

“The fuck? Don’t be talking ‘bout me like that, ya faggot.”

“That’s not a very nice word,” I said.

“Who the f-ucK cares what’s niCE..you st-still look and yap look like a cocksucking faggot. What do y-you want? To suck my dick for crack or something?”

“I dunno.Those big black guys in there who run the place, and a new lily white guy like you…I’m just sayin.”

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“Alright man, sorry.” But I smirked.We sat in silence for a while until I had an idea.The idea made me anxious, and a little ashamed, but I knew it had to be done.I tried to tuck in all my guilt.I suddenly said, “I hate to break it to you, but I saw your wife tonight.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.She’s uh…she’s not good.”

“What? Wh-what happened? Why didn’t you tell me any this in the fuckin first place??”

He grabbed a glass shard again.He didn’t even bother that it was cutting into him.He looked at his broken arm like he wanted to cut it off.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.I really didn’t want to tell you.She was injured, bleeding everywhere.She kept saying your name, and I told her to get in the car.I think she was raped, man.It was…” I wiped my eyes and sniffled in fake shock.“It wasn’t good.”

His one bulging eye looked out frantically, then shot back at me.“You’re lying! You’re fucking lying! Where is she?”I said calmly, “I’m not lying.Her body is right over there, still in the car.I’m so, so sorry.If you don’t believe me then you can go and look at her.Really, go ahead.”

“What did she say my name was?”

“Uh, I don’t, uh, I don’t remember, I guess.Just go look.Please, it’ll give you closure after this nightmare you had tonight.” Why am I such a bad liar?

He gave another suspicious look, and threatened me with the glass with a hand to neck gesture.He wobbled over to the car.I opened the door for him, and slowly clasped my hands behind my back.Standing in my best solider pose and a blank look on my face, I told him to look closer.

He crawled further in the car, and saw the hair and piece of cloth.“What the…what is this? She’s not in here! I knew you were lying! My sweet lil slut wife’s not fucking dead!”

“No, but Ranbir’s is.”

“Wh-what, what are you even…?”

“Ranbir.He’ll never see her again.At least you can still see yours, and probably knock her around when you get home.”

Then he lunged at me, weapon in hand.I did what I had to do in self-defense.I shot him right when his face was near my revolver and he instantly fell to the ground.He fell inwardly, not dramatically like in movies.I saw that most of his ear was missing, and the the outer part was now in my car. 

“Well, fuck.”

I didn’t really want to kill anyone tonight.I didn’t want to have to think about it, to live with it.I had not killed anyone since last year, and I hadn’t felt the raw pain of it since Vietnam, and I wanted it to stay that way for a while.I thought I would feel guilt and nausea, but I’m far used to killing by now; mostly I felt relief that I had finally rid of this monster.Another one down.He was no longer a human being in my eyes.If only Ranbir and his wife were here to see it.

I knew I had to get rid of the evidence though.I wrapped his body in tarp and stuffed it in the trunk.After some thought, I decided to do this with the bodies from the drug house as well.When I stepped back in there, I walked into the kitchen, pacing in nervousness.I heard a whimper, and saw the once-dead, disheveled young woman shaking on the floor in fetal position, having woken up from that “sleep," I assume. 

She waved her hand.“Hi,” she almost whispered, barely knowing where she was.

I waved back.

She saw me with the gun and blood, and tried to reach for the nearby phone.I pointed my gun at the phone and raised my finger to my lips.Don’t.Be quiet.I wouldn’t actually shoot her, but I needed her to cooperate.

When I turned my back she had already called the police, mumbling about a murderer in a brown jacket, and then weakly dropped the phone.I hung it up, and when I faced her she was already dead.I sat in the table chair, exhausted.Now what? Now. What? 

Ah-hah.

I looked at my gloved hand.Oh Travis, you sneaky but crafty son of a whore.I swear everything was right in place for me tonight.The gloves wouldn’t have my fingerprints on them.I went back to the drunk driver’s body and put my brown, stained new jacket on him.I put the revolver in his hand, used a pen and paper from the car to write a “suicide” note, and placed it on the body.I went back into the house to get the dead young woman’s body.“My apologies, Miss,” I said with true feeling.I dragged her out to where he was, shot her body, and placed it right next to him.Her body was wrapped in the fancy fur coat the rich woman had left in the cab.Poor thing deserved it.

This is why you always come prepared, folks.

The note confessed to his hit-and-run, his hatred of women and immigrants, and his drug/alcohol problem.It told of his love for his wife, his feeling of being alone, and his contempt for his new female victim.I left it signed, “God’s lonely man.”

After hearing the muffled phone call I had known the cops would get here anytime.

Something in me hoped his wife would be the first one to find him.Maybe she wasn’t out tonight.Maybe he was lying.Maybe she was in her pink robe in her little house, or maybe she slept naked.Maybe she had a sexy body, or maybe she was a right ugly whiny mule that he couldn’t bear to look at.She probably looked worse in the morning with no makeup.Maybe she’s lying with another man right now…argh, I can’t think about that, I get even angrier.My misguided sympathy for him, and this entire place rose up again.Enough.I needed to focus.

The sun was now rising (took long enough, but I guess it’s getting colder and the nights are getting longer) and it made the rundown atmosphere around me look almost green.There was a chill moisture from last night’s rain.I gave the bodies a proper burial in the small, overgrown “backyard” of the apartment.It was the least I could do.I quickly prayed over them, even though they were probably burning in hell.I said one little prayer for me as well, but at this point I knew God only looked at me with His own anger and shame.I would too.Since I soon ran out of room, I had to burn the last body, the one on the couch.This took me a good while, especially finding the firewood needed for it.I added some flammable trash to the makeshift pyre.I poured some of my gasoline from my car on it.This caused the smoke to billow in a great blast that I had to step away from.I’m new when it comes to this but I had a grandfather who owned a funeral home.One day he allowed me to see a body cremated.This was the most I knew about it.I threw the black hair from Ranbir’s wife’s head on top of it.Didn’t women in India used to do weird Hindu shit like jump on their husband’s funeral pyre or something?I don’t know.I read it in a book from the library.I’ve been trying to read a lot more and become more educated.Anyway, it seemed culturally right.The cloth I put into my pocket and for now would keep it for myself.

I tried to scatter what was left of the pyre around to make it believable enough as a campfire.I did a shabby job, but oh well.The flames were going to attract people anyhow.I didn’t have any more damn time to think about this.

After all this, I at last sat back into the driver’s seat of my cab, and left this shitstorm.The sun was soon out and proud, as if mocking my conflicted feelings and the sheer darkness that had just taken over the last 24 (I think?) hours.One good thing, though, was that there was less crud on the streets after last night’s heavy rains.It was cleaner.Yes, cleaning.Even though I needed the longest shower of my life, somehow a little part of me felt cleansed.Just a little.

Now you’d think I would wanna go home and go straight to bed.But I had another few stops to make, and of course more work ahead of me.Insomnia is now my lifeblood.Besides, My adrenaline was still fueling me even when my eyes felt heavier than several pounds of crack rock or my arms ached.I barely even felt the cut on my neck.Part of that may be my own self-training to make me oblivious to pain, though. Just a warm up exercise, ya know.

My next stop I _definitely_ knew how to get to. 

Pro-tip: Listen to those square adults, kiddos—don’t drink and drive and say no to drugs.


	5. Little Miss Blue Eyes

“Oh come on.Really? That did NOT happen!” Betsy chided.

I shrugged my shoulders.It did, though.

———————————————————————————

The first of my last two stops was Betsy’s apartment.Yeah, _that_ Betsy.I could go on and on about everything I have felt and thought and experienced regarding her from May of last year to now, but then I’d sound like a broken record, I believe the expression is called, which only brings to mind all the records in her apartment.

I actually knew up-and-down how to get to her place.I figured it out a long time ago.This didn’t seem to bother her, or maybe she didn’t even notice, but I wanted to know exactly where she lived.What if she’s in danger, like a fire or robber or something?She can’t get to anyone else fast enough?I had to take precautions.Whatever evil thing she did or could have done to me did not affect how I felt about her well-being.If I was bored and decided to watch her more _upscale_ quarters one day, then so be it, that’s my choice as a free adult.She had no idea that I have actually visited here before, but she didn’t need to know that anyway.And neither do you.

I stood on the steps in front of the doors, waiting.I knocked several times to at least get a neighbor’s attention, to no avail.I figured she must be at work but I was hoping to see her today.Then, I saw her jogging—not walking—towards the apartment.She was in warm jogging clothes, white and blue, and her hair was pulled back.Light blonde waves were perfectly positioned in front of her ears, an effect I had seen before on a few women with headbands.She used to remind me of an untouched angel with how she dressed.I was merely a demon of the city vying for her.

I whistled.She abruptly stopped when seeing my worn figure, with a red stain on my shirt from my lower neck. 

“Oh my God!” She put her hand over her chest.“Travis? Holy hell, you scared me. What’s going on? What happened to you?”

“Hey uh…hey Betsy.Mornin.”I weakly saluted her with two fingers.“I hope you don’t mind me droppin in like this.”I began rubbing my hands.“Is it alright if I used your washing machine for this shirt? And uh, possibly your shower? I’m real sorry but mine are broke and I…well, ya know what this is kind of inappropriate, so it’s ok if you say no, I’ll just, um…”

Betsy thought for a minute.“No, no that’s fine.”Though her tone implied it may not be completely fine with her.She continued, “Have you eaten?Do you want some breakfast?You look rough.”

I didn’t answer.I just stared at the pavement which seemed suddenly very, very interesting.

She quipped, “Yeah, come in and eat.Tell me all about it!”She walked up the steps and motioned into the doors.

At first I just watched her gracefully walk up.Everything she did was graceful, which made her shallow soul that much more ironic.She was still in good shape though, with quite a feminine form.I guess the jogging helps too.Medicine and a bandaid was soon applied to my neck.

By the time I actually sat down in the small modern table and she asked me what I wanted to eat, I said nothing, and thanked her.After what just happened, can you really blame me for having a lost appetite?

“I’m still making you some coffee.And don’t you say no to me, dammit!” She jokingly waved her finger at me.

“Huh, well, yes ma’am!” I chuckled with a half-smile and drummed my fingers on the table.

I don’t know why situations like this are so painful for me, but my God they are.I was tired of staring at my shirt so I looked around the room.It was very bright, first of all, with creamy white and yellow wallpaper and many lights on to make up for the lack of sun.Even on a bright day it was still dark in motherfucking New York City.It should be renamed to Old York because everything is outdated.She had flowers in painted pots, black iron decorations on her walls, and everything had been recently cleaned. It took me days to clean.But her apartment was bigger on the inside and smelled like rosewater and nutmeg.I don’t even know what those things smell like but I think they smell like this.I could see that the living area had a shiny record player with a shit ton of records.The memory of buying her one and the rejection that followed crept into my head, but I pushed it back when the coffee appeared in front of me.How was I supposed to know she hated porn?

“Thanks, Betsy.I appreciate you doing all this.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, totally.You’re just lucky you happened to catch me on my day off.”

“So how is work? Are you still working for Palantine’s campaign?” I asked earnestly.

She rubbed her nose and pushed back a stray hair.“Yes, but I mainly do networking and somehelp with speech-writing now.”She lightly shrugged but then tossed back her golden hair in an almost haughty way.“Are you sure you want to keep wearing that shirt?” She asked.

“For now, yes.Anyways, that’s great, Betsy.It sound like you’ve uh, you’ve really moved on up.Do you still work with Tom?”

She paused and looked directly at me, straight-lipped.

“Tom? With the glasses? Right?”

“Yes, Travis, Tom wears glasses.And sure, we see each other here and there since we still work in the same building, but this one is new and huuge.He’s dealing with a lot of stress, like a lot.”She didn’t look very happy with my question, but I wanted to know about Tom.Tom, the little sniveling fuck who was all over Betsy but couldn’t even protect her properly.I would have.Not that it matters now.

Really, he wasn’t at fault, not entirely, for what happened to me and Betsy.I’m sure she rejected him plenty of times as well.

I blame Palantine.I will always blame Charles Palantine for interfering in what could have been New York’s classiest couple, full of success and style, who love each other without all the bullshit, and would have had beautiful children.I may have done some things wrong, but I think Betsy did worse, and Palantine did _the_ worst.

But again, none of that matters now.I’m no longer interested in Betsy, but boy I sure do think she is with me.Her eyes were especially fluttery; batting and blinking. 

“I just wish I could say the same about the other people on our team, trying to get on well with them and all.No, they’d rather just whine about how single and miserable they are, or no, how little sleep they got, or gossip around the water cooler about, God…I don’t even know.Tom is Tom.He’s nice, you know.I mean I guess political jobs aren’t supposed to be The Brady Bunch, but I’m allowed to vent, right? At least I don’t drive taxis.”She giggled.

I smiled a little.“That’s true.Never stop being grateful for that.”

“But you’re a bonafide Superman now! I remember when they were playing back your story for days on the news and in the papers.I’m still just in awe of it.How are you feeling about it now? I bet it was terrifying to think you’re dead, and then suddenly you’re not.You were, damn, likely still are the city’s idol.Do you keep in touch with Iris?Did you see any kind of afterlife?”She was shooting questions at me like a nosy reporter.

I put down my cup and answered slowly, “They liked to repeat that story for sure.I was actually kinda relieved when it finally died down.It’s funny, you always crave attention like that throughout your life, feeling jealous over those that get it, even, but life serves it to you fresh, and then it’s just…something else.I don’t think I’m a hero in any case.I was in the right place at the right time.Iris? I sent her a letter a few months ago and I still have not received any response.Eh, whaddaya gonna do.She’s got her life, I’ve got mine. I only hope that she’s feeling happy and spoiled.As far as the afterlife thing, no I don’t remember a near death experience of any sort, though I did sort of have one in the war.It was trippy, as the kids call it.

And I prefer Batman.” I winked.She grinned with her pearly white teeth.That feature on a person always annoys me for some reason.She said I was thinking of envy, not jealousy.Alright then.

Of course, I stretched the truth there.I still have the newspaper clippings adorning my cracked walls.I read over them again frequently.I still grapple with how I see myself, but all I can really know at the moment is that someone has to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.Someone who looks around at every boil on the skin of decency and says, “I’m not alright with this.”I’m not going to sit around and let the sickness weaken me any longer, as was clear from last night, and with Iris and the pimps.

Sweet Iris.I actually think about her every day.Whenever I pass by that mafioso building (it’s now under legal watch) I go back to the day I walked into that room with her.The day our worlds collided and would forever be molded by actions taken in sequence, all reflected by the little lights of colorful beads hanging from the ceiling.Free will.Moral law.Understandings and relationships.Consequences.What does life truly revolve around beyond those simple but profound things?

I never went down to visit the Steensmas, despite being invited.If she’s safe, then I’m content.Maybe I should try to go.It does not make feel especially good to think about it, but perhaps I should try and show my face.At least for Iris—cute and tomboyish, witty and wise beyond her years.Sport deserved every last electric shock in his being.Iris’s irises were blue, and so were Betsy’s.I was looking at them as she looked at me.Hers were like the sky while Iris’s were more aquamarine.I think I have a fascination with blue eyes.Now that I think about it, they rather look like older and younger versions of each other…

Betsy dragged out her praise: “So are the gals at each others’ throats for you yet? Come on now.A handsome devil who guards the weak? Hmm!”

I noticed she was kinder-hearted and funnier than usual today.I appreciated it.Doesn’t hurt to be nice to folks.I forced a laugh and responded, “Eh, sometimes.I’ve gotten a good deal of compliments from women, for sure, and even sometimes men.I’m not sure how exactly I feel about that, but I guess flattered.I don’t have any strong connections at the moment.”

I think she looked a little relieved by that.I’ve definitely had my chances, but I just cannot find the effort, the commitment, or even the interest in relationships, individuals, sex.I’m sure I will eventually, but at the moment I’m still very focused on myself and what’s ahead.Also, constant porn really jades you in that regard. 

I went on to say, “I think I ‘get’ women.They have a rocky relationship with me, so it must be because I’m like them in some way or another,” I proceeded to show off my blood-stained shirt, “See, look? My period here agrees with me!” I smiled with my teeth.Betsy just eyed me.“Travis, you know females don’t bleed from the neck, right?”“Heh, yeah, I know, I know.” I mumbled in the most awkward manner.I furrowed my brows and cringed inwardly.Of course I fucking knew where women bled from.How could someone who appeared so smart be so vapid at the same time? I chugged down the last of the coffee that was now lukewarm.Betsy asked me how it was, and I said it was good.I didn’t tell her that I don’t like that much milk in it.What is it like to menstruate? What’s so damn bad that goes down at a gynecologist that women avoid it like a creepy uncle? These questions and more swirled in my head like the cream in the coffee.I imagined the average rancid pussies a doctor sees in a day and my appetite only plummeted faster.

To break the silence, I said, “I hope for Palantine’s sake he doesn’t run against a Jew.”Betsy's look turned serious. “What does Jewishness have to do with anything? Tom is Jewish, Travis.Israel is one of our closest allies.”She looked ruffled, so I explained, “No I mean, I’m, I’m kidding.But I’m just saying they’re a tricky people, that’s all.”I restrained myself from speaking on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and how I felt the Holocaust was greatly exaggerated, to put it lightly.Of course Tom was Jewish.I liked the Old Testament Jews, when they were still called the Hebrews.Betsy began primping her fingers with an insulted look on her face.In order to break yet another silence, I complimented her nails like a dopey broad.Hey, I needed to break the ice and fast! I hadn’t even reached my own story yet!

She smiled again and went off about a new nail salon she was going to, and how she did not like a woman who worked there.I nodded, though barely listening.Her nails were actually quite well done.She had no problem keeping herself neat, tidy, and groomed.I wondered if she still kept herself pure.Was she ever pure?Who knows.I bet Tom does.She’s also a great storyteller and was able to remember every exact detail and word, which I’m trying to do with you guys, but not nearly as well as her.My apologies, everyone.

Somewhere in the long story she switched from nails to Africa being the main topic.“Palantine has been wanting to improve aid to Africa for a while now.I think it’s way too optimistic, considering how difficult it is to uplift trade and self-reliance in sub-Saharan Africa since post-colonialism, and the whole Civil War debacle in Angola with the CIA and President Ford…ugh. You have Marxists (she said that word with such distaste), entirely different ethnic groups, Europeans, Christians and Muslims, and now even East Asians?It’s a clusterfuck, point blank.Maybe if they became like the EEC….”I zoned out after that.It’s not that what she said wasn’t important or anything, but I had far too much noise playing in my own orchestra.

Eventually I cut her off, because I wanted to seem like I was adding to the conversation, and not come off ignorant: “Why do you think there’s so much strain there?Don’t you think they would have learned by now? I know New York City and other places in America see poverty and violence, but Africa really puts in a name for itself.Maybe they don’t need aid; they need a new mindset.”

Betsy blinked.“They can’t exactly get a ‘new mindset’ when they are an entire continent filled with various perspectives, religions, and situations.Not everyone is starving or part of a tribe, there are new big cities, but they struggle mostly because of European political influence.”

“Then why meddle in their affairs with more Western resources?” I asked. “No offense, but there is certainly a difference between Africa and African people compared to the prospering West.Maybe the actual reason for their…their problems, isn’t entirely another’s fault.Maybe it’s a cultural thing, or it goes deeper…I don’t know. Don’t take my word for it.It’s just, we’re all made different, Betsy.”

“Travis!” She loudly placed down her dainty cup of tea.Did I say anything wrong?It’s not like I commented on how dark they are, or how they’re dirty in this way or that way, or that they’re inferior somehow, or they mistreat their women, or they’re animalistic, which I have heard many actual racist people say.I’m not about that, seriously.Most of the time.

I suppose I was still too politically incorrect for her so I stopped before rubbing any more salt into the wound.I touched my bandaged one.Screw Palantine and Tom.It was time to tell her.

I purposely left out the gory details and any evidence of my shooting someone.I did, however, tell how I drove to The Bronx and then the outer rim.I told of what I saw, and how a drunk man chatted with me, and how I wanted to help him.How I wanted to help Ranbir and his late wife.I made my purpose known while cutting down any piece that might bring suspicion or give me a bad look. 

Betsy thought for a moment, perching her chin on her folded fingers.She clicked her tongue and raised her eyebrows. 

That’s when she said she didn’t believe it happened.“Are you sure you’re not sick and just had some weird fever dream? You just HAPPENED to find the person you were looking for.You just HAPPENED to find where he lived and HAPPENED to get the right information…all in one night.And I’m sorry Travis, but even I know there’s most likely not a single place like the one you described in NYC.That sounds more like Iran after dark, and even that’s pushing it. It’s exaggerated and you know it.”

“Obviously you haven’t been on the subway,” I retorted.I could barely believe what I was hearing.Why would I make this shit up?A hero complex? Fuck, I’m not deluded.I describe what I see.An eagle watches and goes in for the kill when he sees it in perfect clarity.Are you going to tell the predator they have too big of an imagination and should just give up?Nuh-uh.I know what I saw.

But an uncomfortable feeling kept overtaking my conscience.Am I ignoring reality?

There are multiple things I could say are wrong with me, but not that.

Right?

I don’t even have the imaginative capacity to come up with all that fuckery. 

Right??

Betsy changed the subject, much to my relief: “Um—why don’t you wash that shirt? That’s why you came, so let’s get it done.That has to be uncomfortable.”She looked a little off-put by me.I assumed we were friends.Friends trust each other with things. 

I took off my shirt, and she threw it in the small washer in her closet.I ran straight to the bathroom, as if it were weird for me to be shirtless in a woman’s house.I could already feel her gaze on me as I walked away.I was being objectified and treated like a piece of meat.Tsk-tsk.The bathroom was of course clean and well-decorated, but smelled vaguely of bleach, which almost made me gag.No more chemical odors, please and thank you.I quickly glimpsed into her trash bin to see any material proof of drug use, or a period.After she made that dim-witted comment about women bleeding from their axe wounds, I was curious.You can tell so much bout a person’s mood just by what their body is doing.

I _did_ see a used condom.I fucking knew it.

My showers are always fast, and this was no different, even with the hot water.I also showered in my pants (don’t ask).I hate bathing in another person’s home, because you never know how the nozzles work.I actually prefer my cold rough shower.

Afterward, I washed my hands for a good few minutes.Jesus, I needed to wash my hands.I kept seeing the blood and the gloves.I had to scrape it off.The smell of blood is something that lingers in your nostrils, taking over your senses.

I looked up and saw myself in the gold-framed mirror.The usual circles under my eyes looked pinkish.My lips were the same color as the rest of my face—near green.I scraped at my mole, hoping it would come off this time.

“You’ve got some guts, Private Bickle.Don’t spill ‘em.” I said the exact words to the mirror what my sergeant said to me when I was a young buck new to the Marines.I had shown what I could do.This was before I moved to Special Forces.I wished I could throw that piece of the driver’s ear onto Betsy’s pillow.Then she’d know.

Back to the main rooms, my clothes dripped onto Betsy’s pretty purple rugs.My boots sloshed.Did I care? No.Did Betsy care?

No!

She was entirely distracted with the phone, and then drying my shirt.She noticed then my neck scar from the brothel shootout.She winced.“Wow. You really did get it bad.It’s a miracle you survived that.”

Somehow I doubted that statement.

Still, I told her it was indeed a frightening thing but when you’re in “the mode” it’s only a little nick.Special Forces on the mind, I told her this also helped from being in Delta Force.This was a lie, but she looked impressed.Lo and behold, Delta Force would actually be born the very next year.

The Hand of Providence is with me, my friends.

It was time to depart, so she told me how good it was to see me and how we should meet more often.“No” is what I thought but “Maybe” is what I said.“Can we hug?” I asked.She looked a little uncomfortable, like despite her feelings she still did not want me to touch her.

“Uh, ok. You can hug me, yeah.”

“But can WE hug?” I asked again. 

“Yes, Travis. I said we can hug.”

What proceeded was one of the most unnatural hugs, and yet I savored every minute of it.She tried to slip away but I pulled her back.I smelled her hair, and felt her delicate back.She would be very easy to snap in half.She wouldn’t have lasted long in Vietnam.My thoughts even wandered to how her nipples are probably pink.

Look, I haven’t had physical love from a woman in years, alright.Although it hasn’t been of huge importance to me lately, sometimes loneliness, particularly sexual loneliness, literally hurts.I think there’s a name for it, but I can’t think of it right now.I feel a little tense, a little clogged.So let me just have this. 

Finally she ripped me away.She adjusted her shirt, which was now rumpled, and said “Take care of yourself, Travis.It really means a lot to me for you to visit, so thank you.Maybe try not to venture off so far into the city next time.Good luck with the taxi thing!”

“Good luck with the Africa thing,” I said back.

She smiled a little smile and seemed to sort of rush me out the door.While doing so, she pulled out her ponytail and shook out her hair.Was this a kind of flirty, passive-aggressive (I think that’s the right word) toying with me?I won’t have the wool pulled over my eyes.

As I walked back to my cab, there was another wave of anger that hit me.I had mild respect for Betsy now, but thinking of her and her actions, the movie, her corrupted purity, was too much and made the anger simmer.

I tried quieting myself, but the words of a sick passenger echoed louder into my ears:

“Did you ever see what a .44 Magnum pistol can do to a woman's face? I mean it'll fucking destroy it. Just blow her right apart. That's what it can do to her face. Now, did you ever see what it can do to a woman's pussy? That you should see.”


	6. Games

September 22, 1976

I never once thought downtown Manhattan would be comforting to me.It was a stinking mass of brick and mortar, but hell, if it wasn’t _mine_.

Not by choice, perhaps.

Whatever I saw in the hours past, be it the dark drug shacks or a little clean, uptight apartment with lights, it wasn’t mine.It will never be mine.It’s all something else I just don’t recognize.The general city is my enemy but it has a face—quite an ugly one.The faceless enemies in between are only the symptoms, but not the actual diagnosis.

I got a little bit of that from a doctor I went to one time.I don’t know, I don’t really go to doctors.They seem to be more symptoms to me.

Some clouds were moving over the sun as I drove into the parking garage, but I saw some beams of light streaming over littered sidewalks.It was telling me: it wasn’t all clean yet, but it will be.After parking the car (luckily few drivers were there so no one to chew me out directly) I gathered up my stuff in a large duffel bag and walked to my apartment complex.I just threw the bag on the floor.I was too tired to empty it out right then and there. 

Betsy, Betsy, Betsy, Betsy, Betsy.I still don’t know her last name.

Betsy.

Betsy.

Betsy.

I went to the telephones downstairs to make a call to the auto-repair unit right in the same place the taxis drive out and are cleaned.My poor cab needed treatment ASAP.I got to the first phone and noticed it was ringing, the noise seemed to be 10x louder to my ears this mornin.I picked it up.All I heard on the other line was what I think was Chinese, and the lady sounded like she was giving instructions.I leaned in closer to hear.Her sweet tone only made the aggressive ringing seem funny to me.I hung up the phone.I picked it up again.She was still talkin.Hung up.Picked up.Talking.Over and over.It was like a beautiful, fascinating carousel.Then she stopped talking.I hung up one last time.I think somebody passed by me but I can’t (can) never tell, truly.

It reminds me of the time I kept slamming my face into the wall.Over and over.This went on for 2 and a half hours.I think I had drank (or drunk?) a good deal of brandy beforehand.I told the other cab drivers a passenger punched me. 

Betsy.

The auto-repair place said they had time right now to fix it up.When I asked, the owner said that I may watch the car being handled.I had to.What if they try to mess with it?

I walked back into the garage, and nearly ran right into Ranbir.The odds were playing with me once again. 

“Guud day!” He said brightly.

“Good afternoon.”

“I must tell you—“

My heart nearly came to my throat.Or maybe that was just acid reflux from the coffee.What did he know???

“Yes?”

“I must tell you, I have read alllll about your thing.”

“What thing?”

What thing, fucker??

“With da girl and those slimy mens.You are something!”He patted my shoulder in that kind of uncomfortably friendly way.

I shook it off.I didn’t like the smell.“Oh yeah, it was a defining moment in my life.Now I have to always hear about it.” I smiled.“Thanks, but I have to go, so I’ll see talk to ya more and give those tips another time.”

He watched me pass by, maybe a little dejected.Then I stopped, my boot heel scraping the concrete floor with a sickening noise.He turned to look at me.I slowly faced him.

“Think about your wife today,” I advised.

“I always do,” he said.

“Think about her whenever you see your children’s faces.Think about her when you read the news.Be happy.”

I stepped over to him and got very close to his face.My eye met his eye with assertion. He leaned back a little, unsure I guess.

“When the rain comes to drown, she’ll already be rescued.”

He just looked at me and blinked.Then he said, “Good-bye then, I thank you for your service,” noticing my go-to veteran olive jacket that I usually wear, and had changed into.I shook his tawny hand. 

We continued to stare at one another as he walked away.His stare was threatening but mine was more so.He knew exactly where she was killed…everyone is a suspect.I hope the rain doesn’t come down too hard again.I felt the pretty cloth again in my pocket.It gave me comfort, it gave me assurance.I did a good job.I would try and keep doing a good job, whether I was “exaggerating” or not.Breathing felt easier.

A taxi had just drove off from the shop.I was next.I drove mine into a specific spot.I was greeted by the owner, who had a large mustache.I decided to already pay up front, and after listing the damage done, he referred me to Adam.

Though there were a small handful of people that worked here, only two were the most consistent and frequently present, and that was Adam and Christina.They were both young, which I found interesting. _They_ were interesting.

Adam Giordano can’t be older than 17.I’m pretty sure he’s younger than that, but he’s a tall fellow, almost my height.He’s slim, broad-shouldered, and has braces.He also has thick eyebrows that almost form what I believe is a borderline unibrow, and he’s always in a good mood.His peppiness and loud voice heard over screeches and engines can be grating. 

I actually know (the best you can know those around you in isolation) the Giordanos because they live in an apartment in the same spot as mine.It’s just Adam and his mother.They’re poor Brooklyn-nite Italian-Americans who for some reason are shunned by the other residents.Mother and son seem to be close, and the mother at one time tried to deliver leftover feast food to me.I heard a knock on the door but as usual did not answer.I only picked it up later.I either ate it, threw it out for fear of poison, or lent it to some shelter or some shit with my good heart, but I honestly don’t remember.I was probably fucked up.I’m sure it was good though, since it was Italian.The great thing about resources is that you have the liberty to invest whatever in them and do whatever with them.

Adam grinned cheerfully, braces and horse teeth in display.“Traaavis! Where you been, man? Haven’t see you in ages!”

“Work and more work.Why else do you think I’m standing in this cheap hole in the wall?” I teased.

“Hah! Well, it’s still good to see you again, dude (he calls everyone this, something California surfers have taught to the youth).Tell me what you need done today.At your soivice,” he did a little bow.I explained what had happened to the car, but made it seem like I came across a whole pack of violent drunk men in a shady neighborhood.A slight bent in the truth.

“Yikes, alright, well, that shouldn’t take too long.”

“It shouldn’t,” I reiterated, and noticed a small shake in his hand. “Heh, heh, nope, nope, it shouldn’t.Come on in here.”He slicked back his dark hair, nervously shifted his bronze eyes, and led me into the open garage where the car was parked and being inspected by someone.He looked fidgety, and I was aware that it’s not typical to watch your car worked on, but I’d like to see them try to drag me out.I am forever prepared for combat, physical or legal.

Adam was a service technician, and only an apprentice in training at that.He could only start working under the licensed professional, Christina, who was also the only woman in service there.When she came in, she saw me and scowled, as per usual.She whispered something to Adam, and they shared a knowing smile.They were fucking around about me, weren’t they? Adam immediately started his examinations of the oil, ignition, fluid, and overall manufacturing, which he constantly did with the help of a manual, Christina, or the tools that he dropped at least a few times.From the redness in both Adam and Christina’s eyes, they had to be high or getting off a high.

Adam informed me that everything looked good, and was satisfactory with the state’s guidelines for occupational vehicles like taxis, trucks, and buses.I nodded.It should.I take very good care of this cab.Though Adam did say he was surprised I had gotten into any kind of trouble in the first place, since I have no history of accidents or anything related to one.He hoped I would not get fired. 

“You can’t be fired for that, pal,” I told him.Kid had a lot to learn.

Then it was Christina’s turn to work.She was mainly a body repair technician but also did refurnishing when less workers were available.I like her to do my refurnishing because she’s the best at it; somewhat artistic, takes her time.But as a person?Oh boy.

She quietly repaired the stripped and worn sides of the taxi as I watched her.She hardly says anything unless it’s fucked up.She seems to hate me for some reason…or actually she might just hate everybody.She was like a sniper rifle, carefully watching everything with no sound, but the minute she did hit, what she said was just a splatter on top of a platform of stupid shock humor.

Among the things she has told me include how I seem feminine…somehow…, how my eye sockets look fuckable, how my dad must have touched me, how much she hates the smell of perfume in cars, how I deserve a hornet’s nest in my innards, and how she hopes I get anally raped with a hacksaw in a twisted passenger’s basement because, well…I pointed out a mistake she made?

I’m dead serious.She may or may not be.She’s extremely lucky that I have not reported her behavior and got her ass fired faster than a retarded jackrabbit.

Because on top of it all, she spews this venom in her low, droning, monotone voice, which makes the extremities sound totally deadpan.I admit, it’s actually kind of funny, and I won’t lie to you guys the real reason I want to be in the room is to see what she’ll say next.Speaking of hornet’s nests, I try to see if I can poke her and get her to sting.Honestly, I don’t even feel a sting, just a curiosity with a side of offense.Who does she think she is?Your typical immature, edgy friend from middle school? Another funny thing is she never looks you in the eye when making the remark.I can count on my fingers the amount of times she actually has made eye contact with me, in real time.How cowardly.Then again, she does seem like she was and likely still is just a shy geek who is easy to pick on so she has to make up for it now.

Typical, typical, typical.

“Betsy,” I said aloud.

“Excuse me?” Christina asked flatly.

“Nothing.Is there anything I need to replace?”

She glared at me with her signature icy blue-eyed glare.“No, not really.The car was scraped but not damaged.Would you like me to give it a new paint job over the sides?”

“Uh, yes, that’s fine.”

She slowly turned her head back to the car.Her fingers moved fast but her face certainly didn’t.I couldn’t see much of it with her head down, but I know she has a perpetual blank expression, little to no emotion, and a sleepy way of moving and speaking.Her heavy under-eye bags and red, teary eyes only made it worse.I suppose sleep is rare for her, too.Her voice, while monotone like I said, also had a bit of a masculine raspiness to it and a bit of a Southern tinge, which indicated to me that she is definitely not a New York native.I wondered what she thought of the The North, if she thought about anything except offending strangers and coming off drugged.But then again, I’ve come to know her as my favorite repair technician for almost a year now.We weren’t exactly strangers, yet I know very, very little about her.

She glanced up at me for a second, and then looked down again.She picked at her dirty fingernails.

“Snazzy jacket, Bickle. It’s like a vomit color. I bet it looked even better on your boyfriend’s floor this morning.”

Ha. Ha.

“Oh you like it? I put it on after a beautiful _woman_ washed my shirt this morning. It’s specially made, so I wouldn’t exactly leave it on the floor.Not that you would know anything about that…” She scowled and fixed the bolts Adam had sloppily screwed in even harder, muttering “I know a twink when I see one.”It could be barely heard over the noise, but I still heard it.I didn’t respond, nor did I care.I just wanted to rest for fuck’s sake.

She then went dead quiet again, and ignored me.Adam stepped in after having scarfed down a muffin and wiped the crumbs.He pulled out a special kind of vacuum and other cleaning supplies. 

“Alrighty! Last thing!”

I told him that I always clean out the cab so there’s no need for anything that would just cost extra, but he insisted and said it was a free feature.Free features don’t even exist.

Full of energy that I cannot begin to understand, he whistled while cleaning the inside.Just as suddenly, he stopped. 

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

Adam looked at me with shocked brown eyes. 

“There’s um, there’s blood in here.And…an ear,” he carefully pulled out and showed me the ear chunk.I swallowed.I fucking forgot about that shit. 

“Yes, yes that is…definitely an ear.So, about last night…”

I managed to convince him that a man had been run over by a drunk driver (ahem), and I needed to take him to the hospital at full speed.Afterwards was when the car incident took place.

A slow, wide grin appeared on my face in fake honesty.My eyes swore him to silence if he was smart.

Adam just mumbled, “Oh,” and looked back at the blood, gulped, and did one of those Catholic-style hand crosses over his own actual chest with a hanging cross.I think it’s Catholic.I’m, or was, a Protestant.

He still managed to get the stains out, though it took him more time than originally allotted.What a good kid.I should hope there are more like Adam in this coming generation.

I didn’t intend for this lanky man-boy to see my mess, but here we are.

I returned to watching Christina, who was spraying some substance on the car details after checking the headlights.I’m a people-watcher, so studying others is a form of entertainment for me at times.Her clothing other than her uniform shirt was baggy on her, and looked like men’s clothing.She always wore some jacket or hoodie because she hated the cold, as her occasional comments suggested.She was a shrimp, but had a little stocky muscle on her otherwise small frame—I mean, from what I can tell.She wasn’t exactly unattractive, but boyish, rough, and unkept.She had greasy, thinning brown hair cut in a boy-short style that looked more like she cut it herself by the way it stuck out in a few places.Her face was dotted by pimples and pimple scars.Though she was no smiler, I could see that her teeth had a gap and were yellowish.She wore thick glasses, had pale skin, and pointed eyebrows.Her lips were often chapped and cracked.One time they bled without her even bothering to take care of it, she just picked it, making it worse.She smelled like a new car, but I actually like that smell.Her eyes looked thin due to her heavy, depressed eyelids but were a piercing blue.And by piercing I mean that’s what she tried to do to your soul.Tried to, at least.Her boy’s clothes were usually black or grey, and her spirit seemed just as dingy.

So, what I’m basically trying to say is, it’s a damned hoot that she calls me out for apparently being a homosexual when she herself brings to mind a butch lesbian.

Is that what even passes as humor now among these kids? Calling folks gay? I don’t understand not a single person’s culture, young, old, diseased, and the mind-fucked.

Christina suddenly cleared her throat louder than her previous attempt to get my attention.Whoops.I suddenly was aware of my own staring and descriptions of full detail.

She told me she was done and that if anything malfunctioned or peeled off, to come straight back.She gave me a few tips on the car, then sniffed hard in her snooty way.I heard the mucus sink into her sinuses.Eughh.She always seemed congested or something.I hope she at least used tissues.This time, though, there was an air of superiority in her sniffling. 

Then sloooowly she said, “I hope you have a good day, sir.If you would like to make any donations to our noble….veterans…you may go to the front desk.”I looked at her quizzically and she just blinked in a lagging, drowsy way.

Adam burst in, loud as ever. 

“See ya Travis! I hope you don’t get in something horrible like that again, dude.Far fuckin out.”Christina glared at him with that sniper view.

He then said, professionally this time, “Sooo, yeah, what she said.Have a great day, Mr. Bickle.”He smiled, shook my hand again, and sought after another muffin, but not before telling me to hang in there and get an air freshener, as if I would even be able to.Does he really, truly want to work on cars for the rest of his life? I would hope not.

Before leaving, I asked Christina one last thing: “How old are you? Just wondering.”

That question seemed to catch her off-guard, which was satisfying to me.She cracked her knuckles almost robotically and answered, “I’m 25 years old.”

“Really? Hm. You look younger, almost like a teenager…almost cherub-like, if I do say so.”

She looked a bit put off by that: “Thank you. How old are you?”

“27.”

“You look older.” She said it not really as an insult, but rather an ob-ject-ive observation.

I raised an eyebrow.She went on, pointing to Adam, “This boyo is 15.”He whipped around, frustrated, and yelled over, “16!!!…in like a month, but it’s gonna be the most boss party, yuh see-“ Christina cut him off, repeating what he said sarcastically: “16, in like, a month.”He was younger than the age I expected.

I nodded, and there was a pause.Then I cordially made my leave, anxious to finally be in my apartment and block out the sound of the clock in my head ticking.When I stiffly waved to the workers as I walked off, I saw Christina looking right at me, with a tiny smirk.It was just for a moment, but I knew what the signal meant: I liked our interactions, and so did she.Our little game was fun, and it would not be over just yet.

Taking off my boots back into my apartment was an automatic movement, and I felt a degree of ease again in my enclosed space.I had to go through many of my own self-made locks to get in there.I surely hope Adam isn’t right somehow, and I get certain restrictions on my job.Why would I?

I laid out that pretty cloth from Ranbir’s wife out on top of the table.I wanted it close to me.I laid down in my bed, and crossed my legs and arms.I had to reposition my thin pillow to support my aching neck and back.I got up to turn on the radio to jazz, a personal favorite.

At least I finished some cleaning.I closed my eyes.I wouldn’t be here very long, soon I would once again go straight to being a “little cabbie bitch,” as the drunk driver screeched.

The thoughts that crowded into every corner of my mind since yesterday morning were drowned out over jazz tones, and feeling finally content with my own righteous anger.Any other forms of anger would also have to be drowned.The rain would drown everything in its sight if it did not have control.

If they overpower the human spirit…they carry on stifling the inner flame of those lonely and broken, those shut up but alive…with their acidic rain, then society would drown me out too.

And I will not be there to rescue them.


	7. Betsy Ross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention to anyone who happens to be reading this: I've made a big change in this story. It's now written in both first person and third person. I had originally written only a small amount of chapters, written in diary-form to reflect how much of Taxi Driver is in narration. It was just to write for fun initially, but I've come up with a lot more ideas and it looks like it's going to be a longer story. I had to write some sections in third person for it to make sense and to bring in more character perspectives, as Travis's actions affect others. This is similar to the movie where there are a couple scenes that are not set in the Travis POV. So whenever there is a date on top of the page, that is indicating that we are in Travis's head again. The third person scenes are mostly set in between his journal entries, date-wise. Or you could think of it like Travis has evolved into an omnipresent being who can see and know all lol. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope this isn't too confusing or jarring. Thanks so much for the kudos and the support!

Betsy stared at the hardened singe in her pesky, loose wallop of hair, and sighed.

She had brushed it about five times after burning it on the curling iron, like as if that would improve the situation.It just stayed looking, and feeling, like a tiny bundle of hay straws.

Forget it though.There were more important things to worry about than hair—there was a nation in need of good politics.Betsy liked staying behind the scenes in government work, but she couldn’t help but remember those childhood dreams of being the first female president.

No time for dreams this morning, though.That was clear from the time they were rudely interrupted at 6 AM.She stayed up way too late again…paperwork, dozing off, more paper work, then a rerun of Saturday Night Live on a week night (last week it was Good Times).Sometimes Betsy wondered why she couldn’t just be “normal,” like her sister Georgiana.

Betsy wasn’t going to give up her job and odd work and sleep schedule for a “typical” life like her sister’s, with a husband…and ugh, children.Not a chance.Not this gal.

She wolfed down a quick bowl of oatmeal (nearly burning her mouth, too) with chopped banana slices on top, grabbed her mug, her warmest coat, and scurried out the door as if her monthly wage depended on it.She locked the door and pushed on it to make sure.The smog of New York City and the hard night it must have had before was beginning to clear a little for the orange morning sun.The damn hay-hair stuck right into her eye, and she violently brushed it off.Why did it seem like everything aimed right for the eye?Not even glasses could protect you..and that was their fucking purpose! Betsy knew all too well: she had to wear glasses sometimes, like with driving.She put them on and started her car.A poodle decoration hung from the keys.

A lot of things were on her mind, other than the state of the country, of course.First the childhood memories kept coming back to her once she started the pattern.They were old black-and-white films being replayed in her mind, skipping to how hard she trained in ballet as young as five.She chose the tights she wanted herself.She wore them at every practice.Then her friend did better than her.The rest was as foggy as the morning to Betsy.She mostly remembered throwing a tantrum in the studio, her mother scolding her, the strict teacher forcing her to go further, and hurting her knee.She was never limber like that again since.But she still enjoyed watching dance, and she also remembered Mom and little sis Georgie going to the Nutcracker Ballet, on the same Christmas her drunk uncle came over.They went to that pretty downtown place where they served scones. 

Betsy, still in resentment over the ballet debacle, would rebel against her mother by making mud-pies and tearing her stockings—in a most unladylike fashion—outside with her neighbor friend who was a boy.She was never again afraid to get down and dirty and challenge some men.She was a modern woman, not her Victorian-minded mother.

Betsy never really had a hard upbringing, something she was almost ashamed of bringing up.It didn’t help that she actually had another living place she technically could stay in other than her apartment, somewhere… _bigger._ Her supportive but firm parents who always called her and reminded her to earn money and go to church only reinforced her WASP background.She still felt proud of her Pilgrim ancestor, nonetheless. 

“Oh shit.” Betsy was so preoccupied with ballet and scones and Pilgrims she took the wrong turn onto Broadway, where her previous workplace was located.She reversed back onto the main street in Upper Manhattan.The Senator needed somewhere more official now that he was one of the main Democratic nominees, along with a Jimmy Carter from Georgia.She had preferred this location by far, disregarding the more demanding workload and the tougher hell-pits of politics she was now in.

Other thoughts flowed through.The other day with Travis stuck out like a neck gunshot wound.She was proud of Travis, and maybe, well, maybe even a bit attracted to him. 

She couldn’t really help it.He was so much more than she thought he was.Yet, there was still something about him, that was just…off.Well, yeah, obviously, right?

She had received many calls with no one except the occasional breathing on the other side.

She knew it was Travis.

He probably had some issues, sure, but who doesn’t? She’d be lying if she said she was all perfect and dandy.It was still a bit unsettling.

Sometimes, at night, she almost felt a presence.Outside her door, or next to her bed.She thought it was her imagination, or maybe a ghost.Although the presence was familiar, a presence so familiar it made her think of cruddy movie theaters with adult films.The presence was at its strongest around her “Thimk” poster.It’s just sleep deprivation, she had figured.

Travis fascinated Betsy.She was hooked by the moment he walked into Palantine headquarters and asked her bravely out to lunch.He was oddly seductive, that man, no matter his social retardation.She didn’t like what he said about certain people, but that did not stop her fascination.A scientist doesn’t stop researching because what he sees may return to haunt him.No, Betsy would go on that movie date with Travis.To experiment? Out of actual infatuation? Betsy couldn’t really say.

It would be a disaster.Porn? He takes women to pornos? Betsy remembered her absolute disgust.It was like he was testing the waters to see if she could swim on the first date.Did he think she was some kind of backwater hussy or something?Thanks but no thanks, Taxi Driver.The way he continued to grab her as she tried to escape only skeeved her out more.It was almost rapey, if that’s even a word.Betsy had to get out of there because suddenly the city smells seemed worse coming out of the theater.She felt suffocated.

Then he tried to call her.Again, and again, and again.Flowers.Again, and again, and again.Then the motherfucker waltzed straight into the senator’s building as if he were a cop on the chase and Betsy was the top criminal.He even threatened Tom with some Bruce Lee move.Betsy had had enough.

And what to do you know.He ends up saving the day in the end.Betsy didn’t know how to feel.She knew she must’ve wronged him at least a smidgen, though, even if the porn date was still fairly traumatic.Every time she tried to forgive him it was like he pushed her away.Betsy felt torn, but decided not to force the issue too much.Now, seeing him again, she felt all kinds of twists and turns in her stomach.She wanted to hug him, but that hug was nearly painful.She wanted to hear him talk, but he said things that sounded almost like fantasy.She tried so hard to understand him, comfort him, and he was rattling on edge.He still held a place in her heart, but Betsy remained shaken over something in that conversation.She still couldn’t get the presence to leave.

Could you actually be able to help someone who refuses to be helped? Betsy might just have to find out.

_No more Travis.No more mud-pies.No more wild woman burned hair._

_Nothing but the new political frontier now.Focus, B._

Betsy repeated the mantra to clear her mind as she stepped out of the car in front of the headquarters.They were now located in a near-skyscraper with glass panes.Graceful lettering of “We Are The People” lined the front, but no mention of Palantine himself.He preferred to be humble about that—or maybe it was a safety thing.There was a possible assassination attempt last year, and Betsy remembered the Secret Service informing Charles that the man wore sunglasses and had a mohawk.Strange…and scary.There were some real weirdos out there.

Betsy tried to fix that meddlesome lock one more time in the reflection of the window before walking into the building, her heels click-clacking against the pavement and then the faux-marble flooring.

She checked in at the desk, who she confirmed her identity to with a special pass.Betsy smiled confidently.She was in her element now, and her back stood a little straighter.Well, as straight as one could be when they were known for their infamous slouch as a child, something Victorian mom did not let her forget too easily. 

There were a few hellos, a few good mornings, and a few nods in her general direction, but mostly these people kept their noses to their desks, papers, and typewriters.Some were looking over a board of statistics and polls.Betsy’s job was actually somewhat of a cumulation of jobs, since she offered to take on not only the most workload, but one with also the most variety due to her underlying wish to rise as the top campaign manager.

She oversaw legislations, policies, communications, and speech-writing in total.It certainly kept her occupied, but Betsy was fearless in the face of constant scrutiny by Palantine’s upper team.At least she had a good grasp on what the most important policies should/would be: the economy, always the numero uno in any politician’s agenda, the struggle with gas shortages, the rising tensions with the Shah of Iran, the environment and the persistence of litter in American cities (real environmental issues like global cooling, thought Betsy, not a commercial where a Native man cries), the battle with welfare, care of Vietnam vets and the poor, infrastructure, racial bitterness, rebuilding the old, and overall healing the increasing decay of manners, morals, and kindness in this country.

Of course, these were broad generalizations of problems so specific but hazy, so complicated but standard, Betsy wondered if they were even real!A lot of it was just advertisement.

In the end, politics is power—she had repeated it to herself over and over.Yet Betsy thrived on it.

She reviewed the papers she had left on her desk the night before.It suddenly seemed like nonsense to her.She shuffled them back and tucked them under the book she had been reading in her time off.

She began writing her daily notes, and recorded surges in Palantine’s popularity, possible criticisms, and how to handle the next speech.She reviewed the integral issues once more, biting on her pencil, and glanced out the window, where sun was beginning to heat the buzzing corridors. 

She decided to go find Tom.

There was television playing loudly on the next floor, with workers crowded aroundexamining…and joking.Tom, straightening his purple tie, led the chorus.

“She used to go to my high school,” he pointed at the young woman reporting on the main news channel.

“Really?” Asked a man sitting next to him.

“Yeah.Think her name was Scarlet or something.Hot as hell but never gave a flying feather about me, of course.”He pushed back his large pair of glasses and chuckled.Despite being a bit goofy at times and looking like a dork, he was charming.Betsy tapped his shoulder.She was glad they still had the chance to work together, as they had known one another for years.They witnessed each other grow into their updated versions of now.

He knew who it was without looking at her.“Morning, Betsy Ross. Care to watch how badly we’re doing according to the general _publique_?”

Betsy smiled.“Negativity gets you no where, _Thomas_.Haven’t you read our daily encouraging pamphlets?”

“I still haven’t even read that book assignment by Mrs. McGrady in seventh grade.Gimme a break, geez.”

Betsy and Tom looked at one another.He had a glint in his eye that made Betsy feel certain ways.She liked his curly mop of hair and the way he crossed his arms, like he was trying to exude dominance when he most definitely was not.

Tom liked how Betsy could be chipper about the most boring shit this side of Congressional meetings and the color brown.It didn’t help that she was a real beauty, too.Everyone and anyone noticed it whenever she walked by, but all she was focused on was him.

Tom never said anything about her looks though, or anything out of bounds for that matter.He was just a nice guy, you know? Not out to cause any trouble.He hadn’t even noticed her burnt hair until she whined about it.The two had to stop their shared glances and funny quips to return to regular programming—in this case, recent pollster criticisms of Palantine.

The interviewees either complained about Palantine’s possible ushering of socialism to the US or praised his attention to the horrors of Nam.Tom squinted at the screen, tired.He had a rough morning as well, beginning with his grandmother, who he was staying with to take care of, loudly waking him with a vacuum.Then he nearly tripped trying to find his glasses that he had strewn the night before, and skipped breakfast to rush to work, much to the nasally scolding of his grandmother.

She loved him and he loved her, to the point where it was nearly aggravating to Tom. 

“Oh mah gawd, Thomas, you need to eat more hon.”Tom liked to do impressions of her in her New York “cake and cohfee” accent and flail his hands back and forth.Betsy would crack up every time.

“Jesus, who’s that weird cat laughing in the background?” Tom asked while they were reviewing the replay of Palantine’s remarks at the last debate.“HARHARHARHEheHAR” Tom loudly bellowed, imitating the distracting laugh with contorted facial expressions.Betsy lost it again and had to compose herself.Tom didn’t even think it was that funny but Betsy’s laugh was contagious, and her smiled brightened him right up.The other workers eyed them both.

After just the most riveting television review, the underlings returned to their designated spots.Tom, mainly a media strategist who tussled with the press, bought ads, and almost always headed the TV watching committees, walked beside Betsy as she went downstairs to her desk.He “needed to get some water.”

“How’s Grandma?” Betsy inquired.

“Still kickin’. She made this amazing casserole last night.I should’ve brought some with me.”

“Oh yum.Yes, you should’ve!”

Tom continued, “I know she’s real old, and she’s been on this earth eighty years or whatever, but damn she still has some stories to tell.Personally, I’d rather not hear about when she lost her virginity to her neighbor in a basement.Or how she almost smothered her dog when he was caught under her new mattress.”

Betsy giggled.

“Also…she’s really been hounding me on finding a woman.She doesn’t wanna see me die alone, she says.I guess that’s how she feels, sometimes.I’m always like, Bubbie, I’m way too busy for a girl—you’re my girl.I don’t think they like me anyways.I’m too handsome.I intimidate them or something.”

“SO handsome,” Betsy emphasized, and pretended to swoon a little.Tom raised his eyebrows and grinned.Oh how deeply he wished she was being sincere.

Betsy then comforted Tom: “Tell her you do _not_ need another person to make you happy.That’s all up to you.You can find fulfillment just fine with progression, not people.”She tossed back her hair as if to flaunt her own single satisfaction.

But the thoughts began creeping back in her mind. _She_ certainly didn’t want to die alone.At least her family could be beside her. 

Tom had family with him.Where was hers? Through phone? Betsy couldn’t help but imagine her family abandoning her for some reason or another, or she abandoning her family at the expense of politics.

Travis said that he thought she was a lonely person.She wasn’t lonely; she had people around her everyday.Yet Tom appeared to be the only one who truly had her in heart and mind.Appeared to.

She noticed a jealous woman smirking when she nearly hit her hip on the side corner lost in thought.

Travis.There he was again.His deep, dark eyes and heavy eyebrows were peering at her.Betsy turned to Tom, wondering if she should say it, and then hesitantly started, “I-I, um, I had an…experience, with a man, actually, a few days ago.”

“Actually? Well I should hope it was with a man, Bets. Unless there’s something you wanna tell me?” Tom said and winked.

Betsy smiled and tossed her head, her golden hair shimmering in the sun rays through the glass refractions.“It was a man I have not talked to in a bit, but it was….it was nice, really.I just hope he misses me the same way I miss him.I, I worry about him.”Betsy stopped herself before going too far.She didn’t want to tell Tom: partly because she had no desire to hurt him, and party because she was embarrassed with herself.

“I see,” was all Tom said.He stopped at her desk.“Good luck with that!”

Betsy sat and examined her nails.She recalled how Travis complimented them.That thought made her back straighter again.She recalled his curiosity of the objects around him, and how haunted he looked.He said some unsavory things about people who were “different” than him.He was glad about Iris, but the war must have really affected him, to a great degree.Betsy always thought she sounded selfish worrying about petty things when people suffered like that—when they saw true blue suffering.She recalled her wet rugs and floor after he left, and his blood-streaked, shirtless body…

She then realized that Tom was still there, breathing heavier and looking over her nails as well.He pointed to one of her cuticles.“They messed up there.”

Betsy glared at him.“Tom, don’t you have stuff to do?”He raised his hands, “Hey, I’m just here in case you still want to keep talking about your crush on Charles and your imaginary meeting with him.You’re clearly love-struck, Bets.”

“Whoever said anything about Palantine?” Betsy retorted.

“I never did.I said Charles.So who’s Charles?” Tom quipped back.

Betsy playfully smacked his arm.“Get a life, Tom-Tom.” 

Tom grinned and said, “I know, right? Alright I’m off to the races.Have fun with…” he gestured in a circular motion to the intimidating pile of papers and folders that surrounded her, “…that.”

Betsy egged him on to leave. She liked Tom but he was a bit of an oddity himself sometimes.He wasn’t creepy, but she felt like he had another side he didn’t care to show.Travis of course was the definition of mysterious, but at least he was the interesting, sort-of-likable-but-you-won’t-admit-it kind.

Tom slowly dragged his feet and snored while leaving the desk, as to further demonstrate his boredom.Betsy snickered. 

She tucked the burned strand behind her ear and played with her skirt.She liked skirts and flowy dresses, especially when they matched in peak fashion.

Tom walked away smiling, but as he got into the darker hallway, so his expression also became darker.Was it really necessary of Betsy to have to mention that “experience?”He tried to shake away any of his typical stupidity.That could be saved for his job.Tom was not knee-deep into government like Betsy and many of the other campaign organizers, but it was one slimy game for sure.It was something.Something he could only fuel with childish humor.At least it was well-paying and in a stable position, so as to make his Jewish parents proud.

The next time Tom checked on Betsy, when it was close to the end of the workday, Betsy was frozen.She did not move an inch as her eyes were directed in front of her to the street.Tom noticed that her and a few others’ ears were hooked onto the radio.The newscaster was explaining that a man who committed a murder-suicide was found dead with his victim’s body next to him in an outer town, one Tom didn’t recognize.They said he had left a suicide note, and nearby, a smoky smell came from a ruined building with evidence of heavy drug abuse.They said it was unknown at this time if any further investigations would be made.Then it switched to a disarmingly cheerful Jell-O commercial.

Someone changed the station to classical music.Betsy still was motionless, and gazed out every window.

“Betsy, it’s about time to go.” Tom tapped his watch, “You hungry? Maybe we can eat together somewhere.You could get some salad.”Tom knew that was her favored food.

“Betsy?”

Betsy noticed a sudden increase in taxis around the corners of the building.They typically were not seen up here, and tourism was not allowed.

Memories forced back so hard she could only swallow some warm water from a cup to quell them.That story on the radio…she knew _exactly_ what it was.

Travis.

She could feel her eyes tearing as everything became suddenly very confusing to her.Why had he really come by her apartment?Was he more involved in this than he stated? It sounded so unbelievable.

Why did he have to stalk her?Why did she feel the way she felt about him?She had refused him multiple times, so why did she feel hurt when he dropped her off that night, assuring her she didn’t have to pay with little care in the world?

The presence.

Why did this man get her so riled up?

Betsy smiled weakly at Tom and responded, “I’m not hungry.That oatmeal still isn’t sitting well.”That was not a lie.She gathered her things and waited in silence until it was the precise time to leave.She waved goodbye to Tom and the others.She nearly glided back into her car, and tried to get home as legally fast as she could in normal NYC traffic.

The radio’s report echoed through her mind before she nearly ran over a boy crossing the street in front of her.He had put his hand up to stop her.He was tall and slender, with dark hair and braces.

“What’s wrong with me?” Betsy whimpered to herself, her eyes still staring out.

It was the same thing she said that very morning with the curling iron.


	8. A Vision of Birds and Fingers

Adam Giordano felt satisfaction to crunch the acorn in front of his foot as he walked across the old scenic road from school. The road was thin and cracked, in an old park now overgrown with trees soon to turn color. There were benches alongside the concrete here and there, only populated by birds or an elderly person or two. The yellow-leafed twig snapped after the acorn.

Adam enjoyed New York City. His mother didn’t always have the nicest things to say about it, but he personally liked the colors and vibe of it, even if it could be cleaner. This road, however, reminded him of his favorite aunt’s home in Ossining, New York (he himself was born in Brooklyn and had the accent to prove it). He had to move to the very central part of the central city for his dad’s line of work, which often required huge upsets in he and his mom’s lives and for them to stay as lowly as possible, sometimes in very poor living conditions as they lived now in their down-trod apartment.

This afternoon Adam was happy not just because he was let out of Federal Prison, aka school, but also because he would be going to Madison Square Garden with his friend Shawn Elmers that afternoon to pick up and buy their tickets for the New York Knicks game. Shawn was walking beside him now, and had been detailing everything from their past wins to how good of a shot the team had now for most of the time walking.

“I’m just so pumped, Adam, sorry,” he apologized but still bobbing with excitement.

“Dude, I feel you. I’m glad I got enough cash this time around,” Adam related.

Shawn was Adam’s greatest friend—the two knew they would have each other’s backs from the time they were forced to do a project together their first day. Shawn thought it was cool that Adam had a job, but it must be a bummer that he had to do more overall work. Adam thought Shawn was cool even if he was obsessed with baseball and received higher grades than Adam. Then again, Adam was always a poor student, and due to his demanding side job and lack of general education from his father’s main job, it meant he frequently missed school. He was lucky he had not been expelled yet, he thought.

The only “problem” with Shawn was something that Adam didn’t even have a problem with—it was what others had a problem with. Shawn was black. 

There was this common belief among Italians and blacks, especially up north, that for some reason they were sworn enemies. Adam had witnessed it himself with the at-times-shocking words that came out of his own mother’s mouth, and that of his Italian-American neighbors. Or that time he and his aunt had trash thrown at their car by boys not much older than Shawn, calling them wops. Adam really didn’t understand it, beyond maybe that they lived close to each other in often poorer parts of the city and had to compete for lower-paying jobs. Still, didn’t they have common ancestry or something? Adam actually remembered that from world history. “They were called 'The Moors’ or some shit like that,” Adam had once reminded Shawn.

Adam did not have a prejudiced bone in his body, but he couldn’t help but feel awkward when he was with Shawn in public, even in “nicer” places like this with “nicer” white people. They could give the worst stares sometimes. He would never abandon Shawn just for that, but he felt uncomfortable, nonetheless, and hoped his brother from another mother didn’t notice. The racial tension could be thick in NYC, Adam could certainly not deny that. At least there weren’t any riots going on, for now. 

It did NOT help that Shawn was extremely dark. 

It doesn’t matter, Adam reminded himself. They were just two growing human beings off to the motherfucking Knicks. Life was good today. Adam and Shawn often had sleepovers at each other’s apartments (Shawn’s was preferred, of course) where they would trade baseball cards they claimed were rarer than seeing tits, eat chips, smoke out some ganja, and discuss their favorite shows and music. Shawn was the first one to introduce Adam to funkadelia, which was like Pink Floyd but groovier. Adam was a huge fan ever since. They both had posters of Parliament/Dr. Funkenstein/George Clinton and Funkadelic decorating their walls, and Shawn honored Adam with the title of “the funkiest white boy on the West Side.”

The two also shared a love for Bruce Lee flicks. Adam had his own pair of nunchucks he made that he was not afraid of flaunting, and hoping to the Trinity he would not whack himself with. Adam and Shawn practiced kung fu moves on each other often, though Adam usually overpowered Shawn because of his tall frame. Shawn was a quick bastard, though.

Shawn pointed to a man with large pink sunglasses across the street, blowing a horn and battering a drum at the same time for money. Shawn laughed. “What is he even doing?”

“Gettin’ that monay, son!” Adam pursed his lips and slapped his hands against each other like he was at a strip club. Not that he had ever been—his mom would never allow it and probably still wouldn’t even in his 20s. He saw it on a movie once, however.

The two laughed and play-hit each other until Shawn went off about baseball again. Adam watched the birds in the trees as he talked. He had a secret love for birds and watching their little chirping selves, but he would never admit to it in front of his buds. He admired their diverse beauty and the different songs each had to sing. They were in their own little world. Adam smiled at the thought of a bird-world much like the human world. Bird baths were their meeting houses. Cats stalked them like the mafia. What would be their version of guns? Suddenly those thoughts depressed Adam.

Adam was prone to depression. There was a good answer for why: his father died last year. He had been murdered in cold blood; by the pistol. Adam felt like he was still in shock, yet could not for the life of him get himself to cry.

His mother, meanwhile, still wore black and cried in the night. She didn’t even bother to move them away from where his father had originally situated them, no matter how dirty it was. She couldn’t bear to. Not right now. Adam had to support his mother along with everything else, and in turn, she protected him so fiercely he tended to feel smothered. She was always worried about something. He was going to get mugged if he even looked the wrong way to someone, he was going to be arrested if he was ever caught smelling like weed, he was going to be murdered or beaten or catch the flu from the bad air of the city, yada yada. She scolded him when he came back home late, and would often check his forehead for some reason. He still never questioned her. She was an Italian mom, after all. Shawn said blacks moms were the same way. So why again did the two races hate each other?

Shawn and Adam turned the street, and the noise of Manhattan thus became so much more obvious. Their pace quickened with anticipation. The honking of nearby cars seemed to support that anticipation.

Adam was rushed out the door that morning by Mama Giordano, who gave him a big breakfast (including spiced, roasted potatoes, which was delicious), ordered him to change his stained shirts twice, wrinkled and unwrinkled his pants, told him to go back once more and comb his hair, and then listened to Adam comment about the latest episode of Starsky and Hutch. 

“Listen to your teachers, and remember your manners,” she told him.

“God why is this apartment so small? I’m gonna have an anxiety attack, I swear!” She then exclaimed right after, fanning herself with a cheap napkin and smoking a cigarette inside.

Adam laughed. “Bye, Ma.” He kissed her on the cheek, she pinched and kissed his back, and pushed him off.

She looked concerned as she watched him leave down the hall, but soon slowly closed the door. Adam tried to get the lipstick stain off his cheek.

School smelled and looked horrible like it did everyday. He was the receiving end of mean looks, white, black, and Puerto Rican alike, and all of his teachers droned about junk that would hardly matter when he was an adult, he was sure. So, a typical day. At least he knew how to fix cars, what other of those bastards could say that? Adam immediately asked for forgiveness in his head for that mean arrogance. He would have to tell the priest at his next confession.

Lunch was great, since he was able to talk to Shawn while eating it outside. Shawn was jealous of the Italian meals Adam was always supplied with. “Not fair man. Lucky ass.” Shawn would moan. Adam taunted him by eating it especially slow, as if savoring every flavored bite.

That day at gym they had dodgeball, and the great thing about dodgeball in this time was that everyone had fluffy, whipped hair, so when kids were hit in the head with a ball, all you heard was *POOF* and all you saw was a hair cloud and their thin bodies go out from under them. Adam and Shawn laughed about it every single time. Gym only made them that much more driven to see some sports. Their energy was hitting high levels by the time the bell rang. Adam was almost stopped by a teacher who wished to talk to him, probably about how badly he was doing, but Adam managed to escape with the excuse of a timely game ahead. Adam tapped his watch and shrugged his shoulders. The teacher looked as concerned as Mom.

While they were nearing Madison Square, Shawn suddenly told Adam, as if it had just occurred to him and was of great importance, “Ya know, your last name sounds like a dictator mixed with a brand of pizza.”

“Oh,” Adam said. He guessed his friend had a point. A stupid one, but a point, nonetheless.

Adam noticed a man staring at him on the sidewalk. Then another man. Then a woman. Then a little black girl. Then some Italian men. With each step he walked, there would be at least one person staring. He turned his head and tried to walk faster.

And Shawn tried to keep up. “Alright man I’m in a hurry too, but slow down a little.”

Adam turned his head to Shawn and picked his braces. “Sorry. I’m feeling like I’m late.”

“The game will still be there. If anything, we’re early,” Shawn said.

“I know, I know,” Adam responded, but his unease was growing.

They stopped at a crosswalk, and a car in front of them rolled down the windows. A man with black sunglasses turned to look dead straight at them both, and appeared to reach into his jacket. Adam caught his breath and lunged—dragging Shawn with him as they bounded across to the next street.

“What the hell?” Shawn panted, “Adam, we’re not-” he drew in a sharp breath, “we’re not in dodgeball anymore, man, chill.” 

He looked at Adam with questioning dark eyes. “Your dealer give you coke instead of weed or something?”

Adam chuckled. “Ah, screw off. That guy back there…in the black car, I swear he had a gun.”

Shawn straightened up. “Sheesh. I thought we were in Manhattan, not Harlem.” 

“Heh,” Adam looked back, but people were now crowding behind him and pushing he and Shawn to move.

They continued in their normal pace. Adam wondered why it had to be today that people were following him. It would happen to him every once in a while, and it disturbed the living daylights out of him. Was that man going to shoot Shawn? Was that man part of…no, it couldn’t be. Adam’s sweat was gathering on every place that sweat gathered. He wiped it off his forehead. Shawn turned to him and asked, “Where was the building again? The one with the mafia or gangs or some shit? Where that weird dude you told me about who comes to your taxi place shot it up and saved a girl hooker there? I remember you telling me you were there one time. I know it’s around here but I can never find it. Such a trip.”

Adam’s heart started racing again. “I said that? Well, uh, I was never actually there, I just…I just knew someone who was there. He picked up some high-quality green for me. It was way too dangerous to go myself. I had no idea there was a brothel working in there. And I don’t know where it is. Anyways, baseball should be our topic of conversation again.” Every word poured out more anxiously than the last.

Shawn noticed, but sighed. Shawn was too smart for his own good sometimes. Adam knew someone else like that, and she worked with him at their job. Adam relaxed as the subject changed and they knew where they were going. He didn’t mean to shut down that conversation so abruptly, or maybe he did, but the past was painful. Too painful.

Shawn was soon making jokes about Adam’s mom. “You wish,” Adam replied to one of those comments. His mother was attractive but her face seemed to be in constant worry. He then realized he had not told her where he was going afterwards. Today was becoming more stressful than he had hoped.

They arrived at Madison Square, and waited in the line to get in. Once inside, they tried to get their tickets. A gruff older man with glasses hanging off his crooked nose eyed both up-and-down. Adam was 15 and Shawn was 16, so neither understood the judgmental gaze. 

The man then promptly informed them that there were no tickets left except for ones far beyond their price range in boxed seats. Shawn just turned away and threw up his arms, exasperated. Adam continued to argue with the man. There was no way they ran out of tickets; Adam had checked twice. The man insisted, and unless they had a higher price range, they would have to leave. He particularly side-eyed Shawn. Adam yanked back his dollar bills and said, “Fine. Have a good fucking day.” The man just ignored him and turned to the next woman in line, who looked at the boys with mouth open and eyebrows raised.

Shawn patted Adam on the shoulder. “It’s alright man, really. We’ll try again soon.”

Adam clenched his fists. “I swear this shit always happens to me. Every. Time. I could use a break, ya know.”

Like the icing on the damn cake, Adam saw the grand finale of the day: his mother brushing through people, storming right at him!

“Jesus Christ,” his mother gasped. She boxed his ears. “OW!” Adam yelped, covering his ears. Shawn stepped back, surprised.

“Where have you fucking been??? I had to go to the cops for you, Adam. Lookin’ like this!” She pointed to her frazzled hair. “Do you realize you are an HOUR late for your therapy session? Christina has been waiting for you this whole time.” Within a moment, she was nearly in tears. “I thought they did you like your father.” 

Adam attempted to calm her down. “God, Ma, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you where I was planning to go today, and I completely and totally forgot about therapy and that Christina was going with me today. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’m fine.” He moved her out of the way where a group of teenagers were rushing past. 

She sniffed and smoothed his hair. Finally she noticed Shawn. “Shawn, Adam is going to have to say goodnight.” Shawn just nodded, and looked at Adam as if asking him the same thing Adam was asking himself: “How the ever living shit did she find us in downtown Manhattan?” Yet Adam felt too guilty to feel frightened of his own mother right now. Shawn gave one last apologetic look to Adam, and left the same way they had come.

Adam’s mother grabbed his hand and began pulling him along, saying, “Take my hand. I’m not losing you again.” But Adam resisted. He released himself from her grip. She took it again. He took it back. “No. I need to walk a bit, and then I’ll go walk back myself. The therapist goes ‘till midnight. She’ll understand.”

Mama Giordano looked as if she had hit him back. Some cars honked for her to get her one leg out of the street. She interjected, “But, Adam, dear—“

“Nah, Mom. I’m going to be 16 in November. I’m almost a man. Let me do what I want to do, for Christ’s sake. Please Ma, just go.”

She blinked, swallowed, and then lightly nodded. “Ok. I suppose, I suppose you’re right. But if I lose you…”

“I’ll be fine,” Adam said in his sternest voice that came out of the deepest pit in his chest. A voice that nearly reminded him of his father. He dead-locked his eyes with hers, unblinking. She just blew him a kiss and walked away, trying to tame her hair.

Adam was shocked he managed to get his mother to do what he wanted for once, and walked ahead to the wealthier parts of Manhattan. It was his way of getting back at the ticket master; going further into the realm of untouchables. The lights were in better shape and the smells of Italian food were replaced by the smells of politicians. Adam kicked every piece of trash on the sidewalk he came across. He took his anger out on one particular piece of cardboard. He kicked it aside to the nearby stinking alley, and it knocked over a box on top of a trash bin. Adam let out a mix of a sigh and a grunt in frustration. The contents of the box were spilled into the leaky alley. He noticed some used cigarettes as well as old wrapping paper and a smashed plate.

He noticed something else. He walked further to see. 

A finger. A human finger.

Adam lurched back, remembering immediately the piece of the ear he found in Travis Bickle’s taxi cab. What. The. Fuck.

Pain reverberated through his body, and his breathing became strained. Adam clutched his chest as he knelt to the ground. His heart screamed. His knees trembled. His stomach churned as memories and flashbacks flooded back to him in an overwhelming force of power.

“Shoot him, little Adam, and I won’t kill anybody,” the voice said.

A young Adam, no older than 10, shot the gun, crying. The bullet missed. The man on the ground in front of him was whimpering in fear.

“He’s not gonna do it, W.” Another man, fat, commented.

The owner of the voice snatched away the gun and finished the job. Right to the head. They made little Adam watch. They also made him watch as they took out a machete and chopped up the body. The parts were placed in a black trash bag and thrown into Hudson Bay. They left one finger for his family members to find.

The rest was a swirl of colors and sounds to Adam. Red was the most prominent color. Adam tried not to have an asthma attack as he leaned against the brick behind him.

The room was yellowed with age. The building they were in was on the same block as the building Shawn had been referring to earlier. The men taunted Adam by forcing him to sing them the themes of classic children’s songs. Race was not as readily apparent to these men, because Adam remembered Italian mafiosos, black pimps, and white businessmen in that complex. He remembered a Jewish man too, but he could hardly remember his name, just that he was a pimp with a hat and long hair. He visited sometimes.

Adam couldn’t control the tears that poured out. Suddenly, therapy didn’t seem so bad at the moment. He managed to compose himself after another five minutes of sharp inhaled and out-haled breathing, and stood back up. He ignored the finger and walked until he decided he was done, which was only a few minutes later. He crossed the sidewalk in a daze. So much so, he was almost ran over by a car coming uncomfortably close. He stopped the driver with his hand. All he managed to see what was that she was a younger blonde lady who looked shaken. By the time he reached his apartments, it was mostly dark.

He walked in to see his mother, who was watching television by herself. He tried to greet her, but she just puffed her cigarette and stayed quiet. He messed up, he knew.

“Where’s Christina?”

“She should be waiting for you next to Dr. Belinsky’s office,” his mother finally uttered.

Adam left, taking a taxi there. The taxi made him think of Travis, and Travis made him think of the ear, and the ear made him think of the finger, and all of that made him think of the homeless black woman on the street feeding rats to her dog. 

Adam was puzzled by Travis. He lived in the same complex, yet he hardly made an appearance other than for work. One day he just saw him talking to what seemed to be himself on the phone. The morning of the ear incident, he walked past the phone lines to see Travis picking up and then hanging up the phone repeatedly. He also had this strange smile, the kind that reminded Adam of the smiles of pumpkins. It was like his wide, toothy smile was carved into his face, the ends pointing up. That, his empty, round eyes, and the way he had to watch everyone and size them up reminded Adam of a crocodile. He began to laugh at the thought. Without all of the veteran stuff, Travis was a bit of a doofus in many ways. He still intimidated Adam a little, and he couldn’t help but be interested in his past and what he was thinking. Old reptilian Travis with his little cowboy boots playing soldier. The more Adam made fun of him in his mind, the less scared of him he felt.

“He’s more scared of you than you are of him!”

Adam stepped out of the cab, and saw that familiar bespectacled face. She didn’t seem to see him though. 

He crept up right next to her and tapped her ominously. She jolted and whipped around to face him. It was rather easy to scare Christina. She didn’t notice much. Oftentimes at work she would forget things, or barely notice when someone came in. I guess she’s always in her own world, Adam had concluded. She was spacey and quiet, but she had a glare that she used as a form of self-defense. Otherwise, she was helpful and intelligent with a dry sense of humor, and Adam enjoyed her as his technical master where he served as apprentice. She was 24, but looked younger. She was mistaken for a man a lot too.

“Evening, Christina. How was work without me to keep everyone entertained?”

Christina took about a minute to respond. She motioned him to follow her into the building and then rubbed her arms as if chilled. She finally said, “Decent. As usual. I played cards with Rufus and Jake. I won.” She answered in monotone curtness.

“Oh cool. You’re getting better at cards, then.”

“I suppose.”

She sniffled, and gurgled mucus back in her throat. She pushed up her glasses and continued, more enthusiastically this time, “I was reading up on capital punishment today. Do you believe it is right because it is constitutionally ordained or because it is morally ‘just’ in general? An eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth? The Constitution is utterly fascinating. I wish I could’ve been there when it was written.” She stared at the corner of the hallway while saying this.

Adam only shrugged. Christina asked either the weirdest or the most dull questions sometimes, actually often at the most random times. Things he hardly understood.

He told her, “Ah, Christina, you’re such a nerd, honestly.”

He hoped that didn’t hurt her feelings, but her mouth corners lifted a little in her Mona Lisa smile and her stare wandered off again. She brushed back her short hair with her banged up fingers and walked on into Dr. Belinsky’s main room, but not before almost tripping on a the sharp ledge under the door. Adam helped her and walked in as well. One thing the two could relate on was their embarrassment over clumsiness. Christina had bad coordination while Adam was just a natural-born klutz.

Suddenly Christina surprised him with an “iron claw” hand to the head, a painful wrestling move. They both loved wrestling. Christina liked Bruce Lee and martial arts movies too, and once confessed while they were playing basketball on the court in front her apartment that she found Bruce attractive. Adam thought this was odd, because she was saying it as if she were a shy child, not a grown woman. She was allowed to find men attractive.

Just then, Dr. Belinsky walked into the main room, and the two immediately stopped. The doctor sighed. “You two are lucky I managed to fit in both of you as my last patients.”

“Oh, Christina’s not here for an appointment. It’s just my usual; she’s escorting me tonight,” Adam informed her.

“Oh, alright. Then come on in,” Dr. Belinsky said, grinning and opening the door to her office for them. Her hair was a dirty blonde, curled inward at the ends to form a neat pageboy that reached her shoulders. She always wore bright colors, and her office contained pictures of birds (Adam liked that) and played classical music.

“Well, first and foremost, it’s great to meet you!” She shook Christina’s hand, who nodded in agreement. Christina relaxed her arm on the side of the couch and propped her legs, as if she already claimed ownership of that piece of furniture. Adam tried to sit back and smile, ready to relive experiences again for the sake of healing.

“Adam, how are you feeling? How was today?” Dr. B turned to him.

Adam detailed the basic premise of the day, and what exactly went wrong with it. When Dr. Belinsky asked if he was anymore open now to detailing what exact traumas happened in his past, Adam still wouldn’t budge. He just revisited his father’s death again, and how his mother was feeling.

“It is perfectly understandable if you don’t want to get so into that just yet, remember, I want you to be comfortable,” Belinsky commented.

Adam nodded sadly. Psychology and psychiatry still weren’t “big” yet, and therapy wasn’t that common. Many mental illnesses were still poorly understood. Adam didn’t really think anything was especially wrong with him.

It was tough to relate to anyone when your early youth consisted of memories of being trained as essentially a child soldier for a crime ring, and then abandoned when you were judged too weak, too soft, too human.

When you were beaten by that same ring, and your parents never helped you. When your father died from the same violence you knew since elementary school.

Adam tucked it further into the corners of his young mind, and licked his braces. He mostly talked about his mother’s mental health and their current state of living.

Christina sat in silence the entire time, lightly tapping the leather on the couch here and there. When he started talking about their job, and mentioned something she evidently did not want Dr. Belinsky to know, she stomped on his foot. He winced, but blamed it on flashbacks to Dr. Belinsky.

When Christina did speak, she slowly lifted her finger to point at the clock. Adam never had been so disgusted by fingers in his life then the past hours proved. Christina said, “The wood on that clock looks aged. I can carve a new edge for you, if you’d like. I’m quite interested in wood carving.”

Dr. Belinsky looked up at it. “Ah, I guess you’re right. That would be wonderful. Do you like arts and crafts?”

“I suppose,” Christina said again.

Soon enough, Dr. Belinsky was curious enough about Christina to ask about herself, including personal questions that Adam worried Christina might be offended or scared off by. But she handled herself well, which was not always the case in social situations. She was not necessarily a shy shrinking violet, but she could be awkward and never quite knew what to say. When she did, it was often…well, it was interesting. That was a word she used a lot—interesting. It was her version of Spock’s “fascinating.” 

One time, while working on a taxi, Christina suddenly faced Adam and stated, “Sometimes I’m embarrassed of my own existence. I go to sleep and don’t want to wake up.”

“That’s…sad.” Adam had replied.

Christina frowned. “Yeah. Interesting.”

She could be actually quite charismatic if she knew what she was talking about, and confident about not messing up anything. She once held the whole table’s attention on one subject, but Adam didn’t think Christina even noticed. She was talking for herself.

Other than that, her main mode of conversation was to undermine and offend people with the most disgusting, insulting, or even at times in totally bad taste but you can’t help but laugh commentary. It was her most frequent jokes and she only delivered them to certain people. Adam remembered when she first did it to him. He thought she was obnoxious. However, he would learn to really care for her, and understand her. At least, he thought he had understood her. He understood that one day all he saw from Christina was her yelling at her cat and then returned with scratched up arms.

But whatever, everyone is misunderstood and needs a little love too, right? Christina probably did. She was almost always alone and isolated. She had to be lonely. Adam wondered if he was her only friend. Hopefully that wasn’t weird for two people with a nine year age difference to be friends. Yet Christina seemed to prefer introversion. Dr. Belinsky asked if she behaved in a certain way in order to deflect people and their attention, instead of attract it.

Christina gave vague answers, but mainly emphasized that she needed to always be herself and have independence.

“Freedom is very important to me, you know? Freedom should be important to everyone, really. But freedom should not be taken lightly, or confused with liberty, which is often mistaken with freedom but far more in line with responsibility,” The words poured out of her faster than usual, almost as if she had rehearsed any dialogue she would be forced to make.

Suddenly though, her face turned red with blush and she wrung her hands. She looked away from the doctor, who she was hardly making eye contact with anyway. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I have the Constitution on the brain.”

“Oh no, I understand what you’re saying. Maybe you should make an appointment with me sometime,” Dr. Belinsky smiled genuinely, but Adam noticed that Christina seemed to be a bit offended by that, whether it was because she suggested that Christina might need therapy or because she hated being told what to do, he didn’t know, but either way, she crossed her arms and said in a lower, more masculine tone, “Right.” She didn’t give a yes or a no, and her eyes wandered back to the clock.

Dr. Belinsky talked to Adam again. It was funny—Adam originally struggled with talking about anything that had happened in his adolescence, but right now he felt a bit relieved. He felt weird about Dr. Belinsky paying attention to Christina, and Christina all the sudden having the power to talk at the right vocal range and at the right speed. She usually talked the most to him, and he was proud that she trusted him so. She still didn’t look at him in the eyes all the time.

Adam detailed his friend Shawn, and why the racial tensions around him particularly bothered him. While this was undeniably true, it was also a bit of a front for the fear he felt in people following them, threatening them, and finding body parts in sewer alleys. Soon enough, she switched back to Christina. He guessed the two had hit it off or something. Adam was annoyed, and was now himself checking the clock for when the session would end already. Christina must have said something funny, since he heard Dr. Belinsky laugh. Christina went on, “…and so…” her voice was slow again, “people treat life like a game, but it’s not. Although, I certainly struggle knowing when or when not….to push my chips…forward, or back. There is a gameness to the state of competition…we are always in…” her faced forced a half-smile, “and….I like games. Heh.”

Dr. Belinsky just nodded. “Yes, um, I see. Yes. Well it was great to meet y-“

“When should I come over again for the clock’s new wood? I really do think it needs an upgrade…I mean if you don’t mind…” Christina interrupted while rubbing her neck awkwardly after the question. She looked like she struggled with what was appropriate and inappropriate everyday of her life, and Adam felt for her again.

“Whenever, I guess. Again, I appreciate it. Alright, well, our late night appointment is done at last. Thank you Adam for sharing, as always.” Adam gave her the hefty amount of cash his mother had left for the session. He wondered where she could have gotten it.

“Goodnight to you both!” Dr. B smiled warmly and sat back into her chair, scribbling notes on a pad.

“Goodnight.” Adam replied. Christina did not respond. She cracked her knuckles loudly while walking out. Her gait was gawky.

“Thanks for coming with me.” Adam said before they parted ways. “No problem, my man. Groovy.” She cleared her throat, turned around, and then turned back to say, “Hey! I better see you at work tomorrow…little bitch.” Her eyes were red, puffy, and teary as usual. She probably had allergies or something. Also, while Adam felt tired, he knew Christina would be staying up late. She always did. She had no problem walking alone at night. 

“If my mom gives me life sentence!” Adam joked, and then got into another taxi.

Adam watched the street lights pass in buzzing repetition as he sat. When he took out the keys to get in his apartment (a real struggle considering the darkness and old, flickering lights barely illuminating the hallway), he almost dropped them, but caught it in time. Clumsiness averted. The room was dark when he stepped in, other than one lamp left on for him. His mother must have gone to sleep. Adam sighed with relief. He was not in the state to deal with her right now.

He wasn’t in the state to sleep, either. Knowing he had undone homework and the range of emotions he felt that day prevented that. He got up from bed, turned on an old gas lamp he had, and attempted to do most of the work. He grew bored of that, and took the lamp out onto the fire escape with a sketchpad. Drawing helped him calm down. He flipped through the pages, which were filled with comic book characters and basketball players. His last sketch was of Dave Cowens of the Boston Celtics. 

The city lights still lit up the late night, and noises never failed to make themselves present. Adam wasn’t bothered by it tonight, though. “It could always be worse,” he reminded himself. A little bluebird landed on the balcony. Adam studied him carefully. “Hi,” he whispered as softly as he could. The bird cocked his tiny head at him. They seemed to understand one another. Adam wondered what he felt about his mom, his dad, and his past. Adam smiled. The bird overshadowed his pain. It flew away before he could draw it.

Before he went back to bed, Adam noticed one last thing: a figure with a long shadow walking back to the complex, his boot heels pressing.

It was Travis Bickle, assumedly back from some work shift. He looked anxious.


	9. Slow Down!

There was an itch he just couldn’t quite scratch.Travis had to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeve to finally find what what was causing the itch.It was a tag from his new shirt.He took the pair of rusty scissors out of his drawer and snipped it off.That seemed to solve the physical itch, but he had a mental one, too.

He was restless.He felt like a wound up toy.Anxiety seeped through every part of him, and sleep barely came at all.After his journey in the outer city, he managed to get some brief, cherished hours of slumber.Now, every time he would close his eyes, he would feel like he was falling and would jolt up.Sometimes he did manage to get into the mysterious midway point between awake and asleep, and would hallucinate that he was crashing into something or see purple misty covers transform into beings in front of him.At one point he drifted off into that realm enough to begin to have a nightmare, and he woke up and stayed awake the rest of the day.He had not had a nightmare since 1974.He hardly dreamt at all now. 

He didn’t know why he was so anxious, because it was not some kind of past trauma that was triggering it nor a present bout of depression, but rather a consistent feeling that something was coming, something big and unstoppable, good or bad.It was coming, and Travis could feel the future.

Though in this moment, the future was walking outside and going to the taxi depot to check his car’s maintenance and discuss things with the personnel officer.He tugged his jacket back on and relocked all of the security mechanisms on and around his door.It was a little cloudy today, but the air was actually crisp…as crisp as air could be in smog.The depot was emptier than usual this afternoon.Travis surveyed the garage, looking at the “SLOW DOWN! AND GAUGE SPEED TO ROAD CONDITIONS: YOU CAN'T STOP ON A DIME" sign until walking into headquarters.

The door made that uncomfortable sound where its very existence seemed to anticipate your intrusion, while you only felt like hiding.The personnel officer looked up.“Afternoon.”

“Hello.”

“What can I do for you, Bickle?"

Travis stalled for a second, as if gathering his thoughts properly into his mind so that what came out sounded coherent.

“Is there a way to check my complete record as far as where my driving, my overall work hours, and my customer satisfaction stands? Is there a file for that?”

The officer was now staring directly at him. “Why would you need to know all that?”

Travis shifted. “I’m, I’m a bit concerned that I may have upset a customer at some point, or done damage to my car like the other night.I just want to be sure my record remains clean and nothing…nothing can potentially be revoked, if that’s possible?”

“What kind of damage? I’m sorry you’re gonna have to be more clear with me.”

A feeling of “alpha male” power came back into Travis’s being and he stood more assertively.He pulled out his standard license and cab license and pushed it front of the man at the desk.

“Look, if you have any files, complaints, or anything else possible on me, I want you to check it through and give it back to me.As you can see, my cab license needs renewal as well.”

The personnel officer whispered something, but managed to go into another room, where Travis figured he was examining the lockers and lockers of information they must have stored. 

He eventually came back out, holding a yellow file.He tossed it in front of Travis.“This is all we have on you.Just a few details of scratches on the car and a couple people who reported you either talking too much or not enough.Nothing serious.You’re pretty clean.”

“Oh that’s good, that’s real good,” Travis said.

“Yes. Now, is that all you wanted?”

“So, I’m still a legitimate, legal taxi driver? No one has any problems with me, like professional or personal or nothin? I’ve always stayed in my designated spaces, nowhere…outside the city?”

Now the personnel officer raised his eyebrow.Travis remained cool and collected, an automatic response from training.

“You’re worried about being fired, I’m guessing.No, Bickle, you’ve been a seasoned veteran of sorts for us now, and you’ve been extremely consistent with your job and hours, even working-“ the personnel officer scanned his time slots, “-wow, that’s impressive.”

Travis couldn’t help but smile.It damn sure is.It was one thing he could do well and he devoted himself to it.

The officer sighed again. “Uh. Yeah. So.” He dropped the file. “No reason to get rid of you just yet.Don’t be doing anything crazy, keep working as always and you should be fine.Now I’ll renew this license for you.”He tapped the image.“Would you like to take a new picture?”

“Not really, I never look good in those.”

The personnel officer smiled and nodded. “I hear you, brother. None of us do.”

He came back about ten minutes later with the new license, which was a different color this time.Travis preferred the old one.

“You know now that I think about it, I did hear a report about somebody possibly seeing a cabbie car rolling around somewhere waaay out from here.Mac heard it on the radio yesterday, when they were reporting something about a murder I think happening over there. I don’t know, I don’t remember all of it.The report happened fast and like that, it was over, Mac said.”

Travis froze.Mac was a radio dispatcher for the cab drivers.He was older, and often crabby, yelling at the drivers.He unbuttoned the very top button on his new shirt, as it now felt too tight.“I have no idea about that.It sounds like one of those things too crazy to be true, though.”

“I guess so.Be careful out there.”

“I always am. Good day.”

“Goodbye.”

Travis left, and the door had an easier sound this time.He sat down outside on a bench, nearly collapsing onto it.He rested his arms and stretched his legs.He let out a sharp breath through his mouth.He sat quietly for a few moments in relief, but anxiety returned. 

He hated having to lie and sneak around this whole matter, but he was given no choice.He did a good thing, he brought justice into the world.Yet it was still something the general population was not ready for.Maybe that was just his way of combatting any shame of himself, Travis thought, but something in his pocket distracted him.He was glad, because dwelling on his mental health was taking enough of his time and energy.It was an old cough drop in his jacket pocket, and without much thought to it he popped it in his mouth and tucked the wrapper back into the pocket.He didn’t have a cough, but you never know.

Deep thoughts were beginning to stream into his troubled conscience.If he didn’t get sleep, what if he actually did manage to crash one day?He was fine with harming himself, but harming innocents still bothered him…unless, maybe, they gave him a direct reason to.He had no desire to get chewed out, and he didn't want to be fired.Unlike most of the scum, he took pride in his job even when he did not enjoy it.Another thought he had was the possibility of being robbed again, and how he got a certain thrill out of putting down thieves.He couldn’t decide if he dreaded it or secretly wished it so he could take it out of his system onto them. 

He wondered if he needed an animal for company, like a fish or something.Not that it was allowed in his apartments.Other stupid animals were allowed, but not the ones that can’t actually talk. 

Darker thoughts came in, like the possibility of an outbreak affecting New York.After all, it was so dirty, so crowded, and with so many sexual deviants, _something_ had to break out at some point.Even children could be infected because of careless actions.Travis shivered at the thought of illnesses—he hated sicknesses.He was lucky in that he typically had an immune system of steel, but the paranoia was growing. 

It didn’t help when he also thought about a possible nuclear or biological attack on the city by the Soviet Union.They were just waiting for any possible chance to strike, and the little wars in places like Vietnam or Cuba were merely testing grounds for the insatiable hunger in bipolar power conflict and a military profit business.All those young men like him, drafted to fight and die in a war only started for the purpose of flexing and earning resources.They hadn’t left the Soviets alone, and now they were bound to target and fry American cities.After thinking about all these doomsday scenarios Travis suddenly had an even greater urge to move back to a rural area.Somewhere away from mass groups and mass destruction.

Still, at the same time, he was prepared for these types of situations.He had been prepared the moment he came back from Nam a broken shell of himself. Though what he was before was not much better in terms of hopefulness. 

He would _not_ become broke and homeless (most of them spent it all on drugs anyway)—he would be a survivor and a fighter.His head had to be on a swivel, checking everywhere, everyone, and everything.If he was aware of his surroundings, which most people were not, he had a better chance of quelling any potential threat coming around the corner.His weapons and strategies of entry and escape were set. His diet had improved.His workouts had been making a crucial change.He could even save lives with his preparedness.The apocalypse was coming alright, and Travis would suddenly seem useful in the wool-hanging eyes of the sheep.

Battle scared him and it excited him at the same time.He went back and forth between viewing it as a terrible evil that destroyed his and so many others’ lives around the world, to jumping in a second to return to combat.It was not even a desire for glory…he, really _didn’t_ know _wha_ t it was driving him.Sometimes he had fears that there would be new weapons and he couldn’t work them.As horrible as it was, maybe a Russky nuke or a new disease would finally wake people the fuck up.He would have to stay in the city just a little bit longer.Some business remained unfinished.

Travis suddenly heard familiar voices.He perked up, and knew who it was.His anxiety was softened by the sounds, and loneliness overpowered the need for self-isolation.It was Wizard and Ralph, one of the drivers, talking to each other in the garage.Travis leaped up and followed the noise until he reached them.They would talk to him about of all of this.They would know.But when he heard the actual conversation, he was disappointed:

“I’m telling ya the chick was farting up my cab.I was suffocating.I finally had to tell her to get out,” Wizard was telling Ralph in exquisite detail, and Ralph was barely holding back laughter.

Oh, Travis thought, it was another day for juvenile shit.Ah well.The fate of good and evil would have to wait.

Ralph puffed on his cigarette and said, “Women fart? Damn you learn something new everyday. My girl wouldn’t dare in front of me.”

Wizard said, seriously, “It’s easier when you’re married.”

He noticed Travis.“Hey, buddy! What brings you here on this fiiiine day?”

“I was rung up.It was nothing.What brings _you_ here?”

“Aw, that always blows.Well, me and Ralphie were about to go to auto repair.We both need oil changes and it happened to be on the same day. We’re waiting for them to open.Those goofs are opening late today.”

“Oh.I actually just went to auto repair myself the other day,” Travis commented.He conveniently left out an “ _earful_.”

“Yeah, they’re good.So anyways, how are you doing? What you been up to?” Wizard asked.He tried to look out for Travis, even if the kid (he was still a kid in his mind; most of these younger drivers were) never really seemed to take it to heart.

Travis moved himself closer to Wizard and Ralph.He answered, “Work, man.Then sometimes a jerk or two,” Travis and the rest of them laughed. 

“Sounds about right,” Wizard said, and then changed the subject: “Christmas will be here in a few months, and somehow I still feel like I gotta get my fatass ready even when my kid is in college and doesn’t give a damn.It’s more fun when they’re little, ya know, and you get to see their faces light up.”

Ralph smoked and nodded.He was child-free and happy about it, but understood what Wizard meant: “No I get ya man. Holidays always bring the stress.Right now I’m just looking forward to Halloween.”Ralph had curly dark hair that reached his shoulders, and a mustache.He had tan skin and usually wore striped shirts and red jeans.Travis was unsure what his ethnicity was, but he had an American accent.

He felt a little sad.He was child-free like Ralph but at times he wished he had his own family to take care of: to spend holidays with.He never really celebrated them much unless there was a church service.He grew up in a…reserved home.Holidays were only money-grabbing schemes based on Pagan clusterfucks anyway, he tried to reassure himself.They were wastes of time and money, mockeries of family, a way to placate the brainwashed population into feeling false “peace,” and advocating good will on specific days, when it should be everyday, but of course the majority of humans are not capable of that.Scrooge was never a real villain in Travis’s mind, not even in the beginning.

Though he did want a family, a real family.He also did not have a stable female companion like his two fellow drivers talking with him.

Ralph began discussing Ranbir, who Wizard agreed was nice but mimicked his accent.Ralph laughed but then looked frustrated, saying, “All these towelheads are taking our jobs.Bummer.” 

Travis did not say anything.He sympathized with Ranbir the widower, though his opinion was not far off from Ralph’s in regards to the newer foreign recruits.

Wizard shook his head.“We’ll see, huh. I mean I’m glad we got more guys coming in but, I don’t know.They need work too, right?I still haven’t seen a female driver yet.”

“I have.” Ralph said.“They’re far and in between, but they’re becoming more common, I think.”

“I feel uneasy about that. I hope they can protect themselves,” Travis then said.

“With all due respect Killer, you didn’t even have your own weapon to protect yourself until last year,” Wizard reminded.

Travis felt a bit ruffled.Why did men always feel the need to immediately defend women? There was a reason women worked better as nurses and not bred soldiers.“Yeah, but I’m still stronger than your average girly.”

“I guess,” Ralph scoffed.Travis smiled, so as not to seem irritated, but it was a cold smile.

Wizard gazed out, thinking.“Hey,” He turned to them,“you guys remember the days back in our childhoods, like in the 40s and 50s, when you could go out on your bikes and be out all day.Until supper, usually.Those were the days, man.I feel like these prissy city kids now have no idea.I hardly see them out on bikes or anything.”

“Not enough room, I guess.You’d probably see more of them in the suburbs.Besides, most of them here are likely watching flicks, or in gangs, like most of the time,” Ralph said. 

“Shame,” said Wizard.

“They have been coming out with some badass new bikes for boys, though, like with banana seats or models after Evel Knievel.I saw a commercial for one of em the other morning.Kids are luckier these days.They have more time to play…I had to work,” Ralph continued.

Travis nodded in agreement.

“I guess I was blessed, then,” Wizard said, looking at the grungy garage floor.

They talked some more, but Travis tuned them out.Something he had forgotten about in all the anxiousness, he still had to do.He wanted to go back to the car shop, too.He needed to pay somebody another visit.Travis told Wizard and Ralph about Adam and Christina.

The Wizard and Ralphie nodded in interest at the eccentricities of the characters Travis described.They thought Christina in particular sounded awful.Ralph then put out his cigarette and did not throw it in the trash.This bothered Travis.Wizard, meanwhile, glanced at his watch.

“Well, looks like it’s about time for them to open. Ralph, I’ll see you in there, and Travis-“

“I also have an appointment in there.” Travis bursted out a little too loudly.Ralph shifted his eyes.

“I mean, my car is still showing trouble, so…might as well, right?”

“…Right. So I’ll see both of ya’s then!” Wizard winked and patted both men on the arms.

Wizard started walking toward the area while Ralph looked around the garage.He sighed, “I gotta get my car.”

Travis gave a thumbs up, and waited until Ralph was out of sight to walk as quietly as he could to his own cab.He drove it off the lot to a vacant parking lot very close by.He stepped out, and looked at the pretty cab for a full minute before kicking it as hard as he could.He kicked it violently until there were scuff marks on the newly polished tiles, and scratched off some of the paint.He got back in and drove it to the repair shop, alongside his friends’ cabs.

When Wizard saw Travis’s car, his mouth dropped.“Damn, you got into another fender bender?”

“Why do you think I was rung up?” Travis replied.

They all three sat in various chairs in the waiting room, which was really more like a small corner in a warehouse.The owner looked up from his newspaper, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, where a droopy mustache reached its corners.He patted the desk to let them know to fill out their usual appointment plan, information, and schedule.

Travis took out a notebook and began furiously scribbling all of his angriest thoughts onto it. This wasn’t like his journal—it was pure unfiltered heat.He started with his earlier frustrations and fears that he had no time to confess to the drivers, concerning disasters and philosophy.Then he moved onto the youth, who had been a thorn in his side for a week now, ever since they had been committing further crime, disrespecting (and even physically beating!) adults, and the ethnic teenagers continuing to pummel his cab.He thought about Adam’s naivety and Christina’s pompous love for reading and spewing what she read, or making insensitive jokes for fun.

He bent over, writing intensely, as Wizard tried not to stare:

“You have NO MOTHERFUCKING IDEA what true suffering is.None of you pampered shits in this city do…most of you in this country don’t!You have no idea what I’ve been through, so don’t sulk in front of me like you know everything because you read it, or watched it, or whatever the hell you people do.You sit in your government-paid houses, listening to bank-fed leaders that use manipulation and divide-and-conquer tactics to split you into groups, dull your minds, and collect the rewards.You only complain about the starving children in Poland or Sudan when it suits you.You’ve never seen your family get torn apart, your house bombed with chemicals.Seeing their skin peel from their bones…you don’t know. You just sit there with your little smirk like you know all and your morals aren’t fucked to high heaven.You complain with your fatalistic moans and groans, your ‘woe is me’ bullshit that masks the true success to life—dividing the carnal body from the pure spirit.You hated God so you tried to push the mute button on him—well then go, go to the darkness, and see what happens. Become obsessed with sex and drugs, lies and betrayal, and see what happens.Your humanistic culture is going to blow up in your faces, and that’s the sad thing…you could’ve stopped it.”

——————————————————————

“How does it feel to be…”

“One of the beautiful…”

“…people?”

Christina softly sang to herself as she reshuffled her cards and replayed the game back in her head.The other workers who had just played with her were now talking amongst themselves.

She looked at the money she had won.

“Baby you’re a rich man, baby you’re a rich man, baby you’re a rich man too…you keep all your money in a big brown bag…”

She tucked it into her uniform shirt’s front pocket.She hardly drooled over money, but she did _love_ to win.She continued to hum and turned away from the loud workers to focus on the amount in her head, trying to calculate it quickly.No more conversations for today!

Then the bell rang, and everyone stood to attention.It was to begin their half-day for the next few customers.Christina immediately transferred from friendly into boss mode, and gave orders to the other workers.She ran a tight ship when need be.Adam nearly fell over on himself preparing and testing tools, but he eased into the flow again.The Beatles song was still stuck in Christina’s head. 

She adored music.It was not only fun, but it actually did help in clearing her mind, calming her, releasing her emotions through the sound and lyrics.Sometimes songs could have messages, sometimes they were just entertaining.Sometimes music motivated her. 

Sometimes it made her feel less alone.

Rock, especially hard rock, was her particular favorite, but she had a soft spot for The Beatles and The Beach Boys.She had a record player at home that she treasured, and tried to be patient whenever it had a scratch or some other issue.

They saw their customers; Christina and Adam both avoided eye contact with Travis.Travis knew the only real reason he was going here and making a big deal of these two insignificant people was because he had nothing else to do in his life at the moment.He was very bored since he had unleashed a bullet that night.Doing things like this seemed to be his new pastime until he found something else.It was at least more fulfilling than porn.

They worked on Ralph’s car first.He mostly paced around in the waiting room until they were done.Adam had walked in and told Ralph, “Allll done! You want to test it?”“Sure!” Ralph told him, and was impressed by how smoothly the car now ran.Travis was next.

Adam walked up to him. “What happened to your car? I could’ve swore we just fixed it.”

“I’m unlucky? Heh. So sorry about all this.”

“It’s ok.I’ll try to work on it, but..”

“No. No thank you.I want Christina to do it, please.And I would like to watch her again.”

Adam blinked. “Um, I can do it, you know, it’s fine.”

Travis repeated, “I know, but I want Christina.”

Christina stepped up to him as well, saying, “You watched last time for no fee. I’m not exactly sure we can allow you to come inside again.”

Travis offered her bills to be joined by the others in her pocket.Christina checked the owner for assurance, and he merely shrugged.She would have to take charge again.She sighed, and took the money.“Fine.Follow me.”She led him into the room, with Travis staring hard at her while walking in.She felt a bit uncomfortable, and Adam noticed, but couldn’t really do anything.

Wizard and Ralph stayed behind, whispering some things to each other as they observed Travis. 

Christina gazed at the car, where her work had been ruined…almost on purpose!She tried to think of where to start, when suddenly Rufus, a coworker, ran to her carefully carrying stapled files of paper in his hand.He gave it to her: “This is for you.”By the grave tone in his voice, Christina knew something must be serious about these papers.

“Where did you get these?”

“It fell out of your mailbox in the locker room.It said ‘urgent,’ so.”

She flipped through the papers.She said quietly “Thanks Rufus” without looking at him.

She was nose deep into the first two pages for what seemed like five minutes.Her eyes were locked onto the words and her eyebrows grew more pointed in anger and confusion with every sentence.She coughed.Travis felt his anxiety building again. 

Adam was just as worried.“What’s going on?”

“Oh my God.Oh my fucking God.Are you serious??” Her voice was still soft, but there was a fury to it.

She grunted unhappily.Her small hand smacked her forehead. 

“What???” Adam asked again, with even more unresolved worry.

Christina gulped, and slowly eased her head to calm Adam.“It’s _him_ again.He’s back.”

“He’s suing you again?” whined Adam.

“Yep. Yep, yep, yep.My God, dude.What the hell. Leave me alone, already!”

She remembered Travis.“I apologize.Would you mind if I look over this: I’ll get back to you shortly. Excuse me.”

Travis nodded in understanding.“Go ahead,” he said, feeling more patience now, but also an aching curiosity.Who was “him?” What was Christina hiding? What if she was scum too, and hiding under his nose this whole time?

After a few minutes, she came back.She had to reassert herself and show less emotion this time around.She quietly began re-assessing the taxi.Travis noticed the papers were left on a table not far from the car. 

While Christina’s back was turned, he slowly inched himself to the table.Adam and two other workers were distracted with trying to contain an oil leak.Travis peaked over the papers ever so carefully, and all he could see was that she was indeed being sued, but he couldn’t see further for what the suing involved.He did see that she was sued by a university professor.He also saw in bold letters, “CHRISTINA D. VALDEZ.”

Adam soon noticed him and Travis quickly averted his eyes unsuspectingly.Adam asked how his past few days have been. “As good as it can be, I guess,” Travis said.It was no use saying anything other than “good” or “ok” when someone asked how you were.

Travis grabbed Adam’s arm.He cleared his throat: “Adam, listen.Is there anything you can tell me about Christina? Anything at all about her?”

Adam was about to ask why, but something in Travis’s grip told him that he wanted a straight answer.

“Well, let’s see.I know she loves games, cards, chess, board games, sports, you name it.She loves music, and being alone, and her pets.She’s a big animal lover.She doesn’t like a lot of things, like she hates marshmallows, she doesn’t like loud noises, she enjoys nature and the outdoors but don’t call her a hippie because she hates hippies, she’s kind of like a walking encyclopedia…”

“Alright, I get it,” Travis said, easing his grip. “I meant if you knew why she’s in legal trouble.”

“Um, that’s like, her personal business dude, I mean—Mr. Bickle, sir.But I can tell you that she had a falling out with her college professor a while back.It got her expelled I think and it’s been troubling her ever since. I don’t know what happened.”

“I see.” Travis bit his bottom lip.“Thanks, Adam.”

Adam finally asked, “Why are you so interested in her?”

Travis shrugged, “I’m not.”

But Adam gave him a knowing look, with a little half-smile.Travis looked confused and almost insulted.He’d seen men giving each other that look before, hell, he remembered _boys_ giving him that look.He hardly understood its meaning, but he didn’t like it.

Christina was finished, and the car looked brand new again.She hoped he wouldn’t be so careless this time around.She had no interest in playing any more games today, especially not with him.

Wizard was last.The first thing out of her mouth when she saw Wizard, who was chewing on gum from the front desk, was:

“Can you fuck a hole on top of someone’s head?”

Wizard stopped chewing.“Pardon?”

Travis bit his knuckle.Here it comes.He knew her normalcy today was too good to last.

“I mean, if anything had a hole, would you fuck it? Humans only aim to please now.They think with their need for pleasures.They love….pleasure.Men especially.Would you?”

Wizard chewed his gum more and more slowly, like the taste was already ruined.

“I wish I had a cock so I could fuck holes in people’s bodies,” she said nonchalantly.

“What the Kentucky Fried fuck,” Wizard exclaimed, and spat out the gum into the trash.

He sat back into his chair and Christina looked pleased with herself.Travis noticed it was her own extreme way of solving boredom; getting that reaction from others.The owner acted as if she did this all the time. 

Travis was actually a bit hurt, somehow.He thought she only said those things to him.He also thought the lazy owner was the only one here who _truly_ deserved their license revoked.He was worse than Christina because he gave her free rein.

“You’re gonna get punched, talking like that, Missy!” Wizard reprimanded Christina, but Ralph thought it was funny, and that Wizard of all people should know to lighten up.Maybe it was the way Christina delivered her dark humor that killed the effect.It didn’t always come out in a humorous style, even if that was the obvious intention.

Christina said flatly, “Don’t call me that.” And then calmly motioned him to a closer chair as she walked back to his car in her sluggish manner.

The three drivers used that time for further chatting and joking until time was up.The door suddenly opened.By the quietness, it was clearly Christina.She had a very angered and hurt expression on her face, which was nearly red, but of course she didn’t say anything.She just gave a terrible scowl to Travis and then sat down herself in one of the seats, arms crossed.

Adam followed her, with a guilty look.He sat too, and he couldn’t bear to face Travis.

Travis knew something had happened back there, and it must have involved him, but he had no idea what.The growing wonder was killing him.

The Wizard could sense the lingering tension between Travis and Christina, and Adam to a lesser extent.It was thick from the time they got there.He knew what Travis had told him beforehand, but now he was seeing it with his own experienced eyes.Those two reminded him of his younger siblings when they were about to fight…when he wanted nothing more to knock their heads together until they had sense and stopped screaming like the whiny children they were.He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to do that today.Steely Travis was steely Travis, he had matured far more than most men his age, but he did _not_ trust Christina, who as long as he’d seen her had barely said a word.When she did, he had to spit out his gum.

He could already see it: The owner would finally put down his newspaper: “The hell is goin’ on?”The two would go at it like damn dogs and cats and they’d have to try to hold them back and break it up.

“Oh God,” he said silently to himself in his head, if there was actually a God existent and listening: “Please just make people grow up,” he meant that for the whole fucking world population, including, and especially his passengers.Ralph hardly noticed a thing.

Sensitive Adam also hoped to not see any fights breakout.Christina never got into a fight—unless she absolutely had to—but still, what he said to her in that backroom by themselves would have consequences, that was clear.He played with his braces in nervousness.

Christina said nothing, but he knew he never wanted to see her cry again like he did that one night, when her mom told her the bad news.She was in an unstable emotional state, unfamiliar to him.She seemed so fragile, and she let him hug her.“Why? Why does this have to happen??” She kept saying.It broke his heart.Sometimes, Christina was kind of thorny.Other times, she didn’t understand the bad in this world, and it made Adam feel unsure as well.She had to be there for him when his father died, because his “friends” hardly cared.He had to be there for her because he was the only one in her life who possibly _could_.She didn’t allow anyone else.Yet, he still was wary about her reaction to the mess he just caused.

It was time to leave, and Travis said his friendly goodbyes to the few individuals in the city who gave him any remote attention—real attention, not in fake-moral praise for something he did in a fit of psychosis last year.Wizard looked like he would say something to Travis for a moment, but then abandoned it, and scowled right back at Christina.Ralph thumped Adam on the back of the head as he left it, which irritated the boy.

Travis leaned on one of the taxis in the garages as he watched the two other men slink off.He scratched the back of his head.He still felt weirdly itchy.Maybe everything around him was so repellent that his own body was attacking itself, and he was now allergic to his prison.


	10. Boiling Over

The next, late afternoon, Travis was spending his last day-off testing the car again.It looked dandy, but was making a strange sound.He was much more content today, so he calmly decided to see if it would behave later.

He began to walk away, but he only took a few steps before he felt a presence behind him like an attentive soldier.Soon after, he heard the footsteps.He turned around. 

Christina made a beeline to Travis, and lifted her finger to him as if putting a curse on him. 

“YOU.”

“Me what?” The exhausted Travis tried to find an escape.

“You looked at my papers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Adam told me everything.You must have looked at my papers if you were asking about my ‘legal history.’ Do you really think I’m stupid?”

Travis had never before seen Christina this bothered, or heard her voice this commanding.She wasn’t even stuttering.She stood there, straight as a pin (instead of her usual slouch) and peeling dead skin off her lip.

“Oh boy,” Travis muttered under his breath.He knew he already had a frustrating night ahead of him…and it was his last day/night off.

Christina’s voice turned disappointed: “Why though? Why on earth would you feel the need to do that?”

Her frustration with her own feelings were nearly making her eyes tear, but she quickly wiped them away.She would not give him that satisfaction. 

Christina hated the thought of people disliking or distrusting her.

Travis felt a bit bad, but man, she was really exaggerating this.Travis did not unlock his eyes from the small woman in front of him, but opened his mouth to say coldly, “Calm down.There’s no need to throw a tantrum and make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“A molehill? My personal business is not a _molehill_ , mister.You should apologize.”

Travis’s guilt dissipated as quickly as it came.Now he was the one scowling, but it was a far more realistically threatening one. 

“I don’t do what weird, spoiled little brats tell me.”

Christina’s face twisted.She pushed up her glasses. 

“That’s what you think of me? Well you’re just such pure, unadulterated perfection, aren’t you, taxi fucker.You’re so stuck up in your own fantasy land of what you judge as right and wrong that you can’t even think straight—you can’t even apologize.Maybe I’m a little different…” she eyed her own shoes sadly. 

“But…but I have a soul still.I don’t take out my pent-up violence on others.Maybe I joke about it, but you actually do it.So yeah, I am simply not impressed by your little vigilante story.You actually gunned down people like dogs.That’s messed up, Travvy-Boy.” 

Her speech was so clear now she felt a growing confidence, but then blew it on the next sentence: “I-I-uh, forgot what I was going to say. Ahem.”

Travis didn’t say anything as he allowed her to vent, that was her right, but then defended himself again:

“Come on. They weren’t shit.Bad guys getting gunned down is not some tragedy.Also, I feel like you hate me for some reason, honestly. Why is that?”

She bent down to tie her shoes instead of meeting his eyes.She said:

“I never hated you.I thought…we were playing a game.”

“I thought so too,” he responded.

There was a long pause.Anger soon crept back into Christina’s tone:

“I still detest, detest your attitude.You come into my royal palace like Grigori Rasputin and try to taint it…”

“The fuck are you even talkin’ about-” Travis was feeling increasingly embarrassed by this oddball scene.He also was annoyed by her incessant need to use big words and random facts to seem smart.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Mad Monk!”

He really didn’t.He was beginning to wonder if that cough drop was laced with something, and obviously Christina took one as well.Conveniently enough, she coughed right after he thought that.She had a harsh cough, like something was iffy with her lungs.Travis had heard a passenger with a similar cough, but he forgot what he called it.

“Alrighty.Whatever, Christina.Thanks for the car fix-up, as always.I’m tired and I’d love to try to get some sleep while I still can.So goodnight.”

Christina stepped in front of him with an “I don’t think so” glare.

“Can you move, please?”

“Answer the question first. Why do you need to read about my past transgressions?”

He tried to move, but she blocked him again.

“Why, Travis?”

If Travis was the judge, then Christina was the fiery, possibly-corrupt lawyer.That pain in the ass type with a love for punishment and interrogation.

Travis began to tower over her.Christina backed up a little in his dark shadow, trying to remain feeling like a “vicious city rat” and not come across like a scared country mouse out of her element.However, Travis seemed like a foreign field mouse too, his accent was slightly off from the typical feisty New Yorkers she saw all the time (though the tones were similar); and he seemed quite scared himself, so she felt confused.He was like a puzzle she could never quite piece together…and she was good at puzzles.By watching in silence she gathered information about her coworkers and customers.Only Adam had truly confided in her, the poor kid, he was a messier puzzle.

Yet every time she thought she found a piece that fit with Travis, he confused her again and threw her off the scent.This was odd, she thought, because he didn’t come across as very bright.He seemed like he should be really easy to read, mold, and talk into things.

She was determined to solve him, however.Mama didn’t raise no quitter.

Travis said in a gravelly voice, “Why are you really here? It’s not because of some fuckin pieces of paper, I can tell.Ya see, I’m not stupid either.Why don’t you answer that question, and I’ll answer yours.”

‘You could hear a pin drop _,’_ was such an outdated, cliche saying, but it fit perfectly here.Christina’s silence was deafening, and the red was appearing back to her pale face.She sniffed and focused on her feet yet again. 

“I just…” she started,

“I just wondered…”

“Hm?” Travis moved closer to her.

She was now looking at him dead in the eye, a chill coming from her own.A sly smirk was also there.He could see her yellowing teeth and smell her unwashed breath from where he was standing. 

She also came off like she was challenging him to a fight!

“I just wondered…If there were no women in Vietnam, did you and your buddies fuck each other in the showers instead? Oh, and is that Agent Orange still getting to you? Poor little guy.”

Travis put his hands in his pockets.“This offensive schtick is getting old.Move.”

“Mm. I guess I hit a nerve.”

“Don’t you have friends you can tell this hateful shit to? Besides the servant, I mean boy, you drag around and force to like you.”

“Adam loves me,” Christina said almost as if to confirm it both to Travis and herself. 

“Oh he _loves_ you, huh? An underage boy loves you.And I’m the pervert.Riiight.”

“You know that’s not what I was referring-“

“Fuck, I already said I was tired.Goodnight already,” Travis cut off.

When Travis began to walk away again, she returned to her place in front of him.

“Do not project your vile misanthropic bitterness and loneliness onto me.Don’t even try.”

“Move.” Travis was not playing their “game” anymore. And Christ, this girl must like rubbing one out to dictionaries and thesauruses.

“Let me at least say one more thing: I _do_ have people that love me.I have a family, my real best friends.I would rather have friends at home than possible traitors outside. They always took care of me…and…and now I have to help them.I have to help payoff my mother’s breast cancer treatment somehow.”

Travis did not know that was the case, but he still needed Christina to move her ass.If she was actually telling the truth, then she should be grateful for a good family.

Christina sighed, and rubbed her throat.Her voice was hoarse from talking so much, and she was already feeling ashamed for running her mouth to this degree.She felt a bit stupid.

“Well, I’m glad we got this all settled, then,” Travis said sarcastically.He had talked a lot himself, and something in her was bringing an unusual amount of passion from him.

This was a long time coming—they were boiling over, but in their own ways.

“I’m sorry about what I said in regards to your jacket.It’s um, it’s actually cool, it doesn’t look like the color of vomit, and I admire your resilience in duty at home and abroad,” Christina turned the switch to apologies.

“But from what I’ve read, I don’t think the King Kong Company is a real company…” she now stood right next to Travis and reached out to touch his King Kong Company patch.

It was like a wire had been cut in Travis’s circuit—he had to deflect the immediate threat.Without thinking, he backhanded her so hard she fell to the ground, holding her now bruised cheek.Her eyes were wide and she noticed she was shaking.

Travis pointed at her and nearly spat, “Don’t EVER put your greasy little claws on me, bitch.Don’t you fucking bring up Vietnam again, or question my service.” 

His hand was shaky as well.He realized what he had just done.

“Jesus, I’m sorry…I’m real sorry…I-“ He stuttered, and suddenly felt the urge to run away.He knew he should’ve just pushed her aside and gone home. 

Christina, meanwhile, was shocked.She had gone too far.Waaay too far.She didn’t think he’d actually do anything when she challenged him—he was too “noble,” or cowardly.One of those, so she thought.She knew she should’ve just stepped aside and let him go home. 

Travis overreacted, but she understood why even though he was clearly bigger and stronger than her, with some apparent knowledge of hand-to-hand.She felt a sliver of guilt. 

She took his wiry hand when he helped her up.Her hands were rough, but his had seen more.

“I didn’t…I hadn’t meant to call you a bitch-“

“I deserved it.Better than being compared to a lying whore.”

Travis rubbed the hand that struck her.“You know-“ he started.

She raised her own hand.“Enough. I’m finished…talking for the day.Goodnight, Bickle.”Her voice and slow walk past him indicated that she was back to her normal (normal for her) self that was monotone and robotic.Travis was relieved.That was quite the experience they just had.

They parted ways….

….for about a minute.

Travis was thinking about how he could continue driving his cab without issue, though he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could be accepted by all the boys and girls alike for taking out a murderer again…

_THUD!_

Travis almost had the wind knocked out of him as he was tackled into the building wall.

“WHAT TH-“

A petite fist attempted to punch his nose, but he easily caught it and started to bend the arm backwards. 

“UGHH!” She had a low, masculine groan.Of course it was her.

Well if she wanted to dress, look, talk, and act like a man, he wasn’t going to hold back this time around.

He grabbed her short, thin hair (it fit easily into his fingers) and used it to hold her up as he punched her in the gut—not too hard, but hard enough to send the message.Her eyes bulged and she grunted. 

He pinned her to the ground, holding her still by the neck.She spat into his face and bit really hard, right into his nose like an animal.

“Argh! God!”

He had to pin down her arms too.“Stop. It.” He ordered between heavy breaths. She kicked him one last time before he kneed her in the hip.She yelped.

“Stop, for fuck’s sake, _stop_.”

Thankfully, she did.Her breaths were pained and heavy as well, and she rose up one arm, both now freed.He could clearly see the bruise on her cheek and her toned, hairy limb now.She had an open-mouthed scowl and her slowly blinking eyes were droopy and tearing.

She coughed hard, and readjusted her glasses. She looked pained, grabbing her abdomen, and had to support herself on the wall.

“I thought you were done for the night,” Travis said, but, _kind of_ keeping to her word, Christina was dead quiet again.

“So you’re not gonna talk to me, now, huh? Fine.”He almost couldn’t be mad at her.The nerdy short-stack took that beating like a _champ_.

Christina pulled her shirt back into place and warmed her car-oil covered hands with her breath.She waved him off, signaling that he could finally leave in peace.

They had one last stare-down, and Travis left down the sidewalk.

Christina looked on, closed her eyes, and whispered “Dammit.”

She sighed and started following him.

She still wasn’t done with Travis.She had too much interest in him, even at the risk of her life.Life wasn’t as important as _winning_.

And Mama didn’t raise no quitter.Suck on that, Professor Rawlings.


	11. Mending Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The journal entries live on by the next chapter.

Christina drowned out the never-ending drones and colorful whirs of Manhattan.She tried to avert her eyes from the adult theaters, as if she were afraid of feeling lust just by that.

It reminded her of Medusa.She was quite interested in Greek myths.Myths, in general really.

There was a lot to learn from mythology.Basic storylines and lessons that are rooted in the most basic of human nature, and passed down generations.Christina sometimes wanted to be a kind of modern mythic figure.Although that would give her too much power, and too much attention.She would shy away from it, just like she did when she thought about being a world leader.She’d step on far too many twinkle toes, anyway. 

Unfortunately, she was almost always replaced or pushed to the background for the even more “mythic” figure.Typically these figures were females.Far more beautiful females.Not like her, constantly replaced or ignored by men, ragged on for her looks as if she could help that, or seen as a straight up kitty eater.Oh, how she had a deep dislike for them.Not hate, that was too powerful of a word.No, it was a harboring distrust and bridled contempt for those, those hags.Maybe she could do a better job in the background: the puppet-master.

Christina was once called a “woman hater” by one of those numb-skulled feminists in college, but she didn’t care.She knew what she was, who she was, and it was not a “woman hater,” or a “female misogynist” to sound more intelligent.She was just not particularly fond of a large section of her own sex, who she felt still gave in to the swings of senseless emotion, sleeping around, and the feeling like they need to be superior to men for some reason.She didn’t like hypocritical girls, who favored themselves over the power of the family unit, or their own virtue.Cutting out pictures of models from magazines was NOT hatred.She was pretty sure.

Now, Christina knew she could be hypocritical too.At least she was _aware_ of her own flaws.She could readily admit to them, and Dr. Belinsky praised her on this. 

She knew this all sounded incredibly arrogant, but it was the truth.Dr. Belinsky was intelligent and honest, so Christina respected her among women. 

Besides, no one had to know about this side to her.That side was meaner than a snake, and she already felt enough guilt about herself to not spread it to the world.She really wanted to be nicer than she was.She had a good heart, but it was clouded with her own confusion on a planet that she was hyper-sensitive to.Thus, she had to often block it out, and it gave her an apparent coldness she took no pride in.

One woman she adored was her mother.Every time she was reminded of her, her heart carried a sinking feeling.She had to overpower it with the determination to succeed and supply her with the luxuries her sweet but sickly Southern mom had so deserved.She sheltered Christina, and instilled in her many good values.

She did like her fantasies every once in a while.It took her out of that confusion for a moment.Right now, she imagined a train coming out of nowhere and running over Travis with a splat.He’d literally go everywhere.It’s not that she wanted to see Travis hurt—quite the opposite—but her imagination always went to these scenarios. 

Maybe she could collect his brain and clone him, making a new future army of Travis Bickles!

She found this a bit funny, but then remembered why she was here in the first place—Travis.That good old boy, Travis.She had to walk faster to catch up with him, despite her worn out body as a result of the fight.She nearly walked into at least one pole.

Organs brought to mind canopic jars.It was not her fault she was so interested in the mummified dead. 

She loved Egyptian history since she was a child, and tried to read up on mummification the most she could.She accidentally gave a girl nightmares talking about it once.She was called “mummy lips” at times in college due to her dry, chapped lips.

Finally, she was close to Travis. She tried to talk, but a hoarse sound came out.She clutched where Travis had hit her, as moving a certain way brought another cramp.

Her ability to speak properly had disappeared.He was standing right there!

“Speak!” She ordered herself.“Speak!”

But nothing came out.Dejected, she was about to give up…then she tiptoed closer to him and stomped her foot as loudly as she could on the pavement.

Travis jumped a bit, and turned around.He did not _exactly_ look happy to see her once again.

Christina stood there, not knowing what to say for a moment.So she just waved her hand with a weak smile.

“Hello again.”

Travis nodded, and then kept walking.Christina walked faster. “Wait! Wait!”

He stopped. 

“Yes, Chrissy?” He almost growled it.

Christina was now facing him.She continued, “We haven’t fully mended yet…don’t leave…please.”

He paid more attention now that she said “please.” 

“Yes??” He asked again.

_Think.Think.Think._

“You have really nice hair,” she managed to say.She hoped that didn’t sound too weird.Ah, fuck it, she’s said _far_ worse.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t seem that put off by it.It was a compliment, and a true one at that.He definitely wasn’t ugly.With his brooding nature, chiseled features, heavy brows, dark eyelashes, and thick, black hair…it made sense that at least a few women at the taxi depot, black and white, younger and older, were sweet on him.Christina had overheard it.He wasn’t the most beautiful person living, but compared to the majority of taxi drivers, he was practically a scruffier version of Elvis Presley.She, of course, didn’t notice really much beyond that.

She hadn’t noticed any of their looks, to be fair.That wasn’t her fucking job.Mostly she saw Travis as a rag doll with a skin suit and empty, Charles Manson eyes.He was not to be fully trusted. _Something_ had to be wrong with him.

Yet here she was, trying to get his attention. She managed to utter again, “I am still very, very sorry for the things I said…and the way I treated you…and uh, attacking you…but I had my reasons and I am a woman of principle and *cough* word.”

“And, again, I am sorry.”

“I feel pretty sorry too. I pretty much egged you on throughout.”

It was about to be a competition of who was more sorry, so when Christina tried to force it again, Travis stopped her with a

“It’s fine,” in a more serious tone.

There was another pause of silence other than breathing.They were now standing in an alley that was less crowded and noisy, so they could hear each other and not have to move.

Christina planted herself under a blinking old street lamp. A shop with the lights still on illuminated the space between where they were standing, but it was still rather dark.Travis looked directly at her, to the point that it felt like he was staring into her very core, and trying to examine her whole being until she talked again.His eyes were dark, nearly sunken in.It was like a shark’s once it smelled blood. 

The look made her suddenly want to run away, far away, where nobody, particularly Travis, would ever find her.

Instead, she told herself to stop being a pussy and find something to speak about, something that he could comprehend.She closed her eyes into slits, and examined Travis herself as if he were a painting or photograph against the eerie red and black backdrop of the night city.She slowly cocked her head for the full effect.

He stood there like an icon.His Roman-like facial shape was even more apparent now.He was in both light and shade, half ray half shadow. Both adult-themed and innocent buildings framed him.Perhaps a city of contradictions.

In the cities of Ancient Greece, there were patron gods that represented, symbolized, anointed, and protected those places.Athena for Athens, she thought as the most obvious example. 

Travis, as much as he lamented this place, may just be its deity. Its icon.Its myth.

And then Christina tarnished the civility of it all with a large snort, spitting out mucus, much to Travis’s disgust.At least it was on litter.There was litter everywhere, it seemed like.Could litter have beauty, she thought?

Travis brought her back to earth again.“Hey, do I have to keep standing around or can I actually go back home?”

She crossed her arms in embarrassment.“I just wanted to say I was sorry, that was all.Go ahead.”

“I know.I know you did.” Travis looked sympathetic.“I’ve already said what I needed to say…some kind of falling out was bound to happen.I feel kinda good now, actually.What about you?”

“Of course it was bound to happen,” Christina affirmed solemnly, “It was only inevitable after, one,” she pointed one finger up, “difference in traits.”

“Two.” The next finger went up.“Two stubborn minds colliding.”

“Three,” This finger was slower.“Miscommunication.”

“And four,” her head was now bowed, staring at Travis with unblinking eyes.Her back was slightly hunched.“Poor…manners.”

She raised her last finger, the thumb, to the light above her. 

“Aaand that light has been blinking for this entire time.”

She looked up at it, as she admired tech, and the flashing seemed to imitate her fluctuating emotions at the moment.It reminded her of a bad trip as well.It flashed and flashed in white light until she felt blinded, and she swiftly closed her eyes in pain.She took off her glasses and rubbed them, letting out a small noise, which she hoped Travis didn’t hear.

She needed to quit hurting herself.The scab on her back already had a bandaid just to prevent infection.She kept wanting to pick at it when she felt at her worst.

Travis then said, “You’re right.You’re a smart cookie, you know.Do you like sports?”

He imagined sports were something normal people cared about, so he had to ask to fill in the conversation. 

“Like the New York Yankees?”

Of course she doesn’t, you dumbass, he thought.She was into books and wrenches and shit.

Christina felt a bolt of abnormal excitement.

“YES!” It was a bit too loudly.It took Travis aback, but only for a second.

“Yes,” she repeated, more quietly and subdued.

“Oh, ok.You’ve seen some games, then?” Travis would’ve known this already if he went on to stalk her.

“A couple.I want to see a lot more.”

“Understandable.I’ve only seen a New York Giants game…on uh, on tv.”

Christina looked like she disapproved.She said, “I like the zoo, too. But I feel bad for the animals.The animal kingdom is in fact far worse than humanity.Simply brutal.”

“I know. People are supposed to know better….they should most definitely know better.”Travis adjusted his belt.He noticed her hand was massaging her abdomen.

“I didn’t rough you up too bad, I hope.”

She looked up at him, and the light of the store showed half her face.

“Hit me harder.”

Travis asked, “What?” Despite hearing what she said.

“Hit me harder…this time. Try it.”

He stepped closer, his fist ready.“You want me to hit you,” his voice got softer, “In public?” Why would a woman want to be socked?

He stepped even more closely, and she raised her hands in front her face.

“No, no no.I mean…with your words.Say whatever you always wanted to say to me…to, to…pay back for whatever has come out of my vitriolic pie-hole.”

Travis still looked perplexed, so she explained further: “What I mean is-”

“Ok.”

Christina started, “Did you know that the word ok comes from a campaign-“

“Shut the fuck up.I’m tryin to do what you asked.”He had no idea what kind of backwards foreplay this was, but it was more entertaining than sitting for hours alone in his room, that was for sure.

Christina went quiet again, waiting.

Travis tried to imagine what would happen if he struck back at Christina, just saying the worst possible things to her.He would’ve never previously done it—so impolite, and not to mention extremely childish—but Christina was practically begging him to…and his imagination and anger were already a-flutter for the past 72 hours.

“Ms. Valdez,” he said.

Christina’s eyebrows raised.He _did_ read her papers!!She suddenly regretted this entire thing.

She started to turn around, but Travis blocked her…like she had done to him.He leaned his arm against the wall.

“Because of your own self-destruction, you’ll have to die alone with your cat feasting on your corpse.” She attempted to circle around him, but he stopped her with his hand on her shoulder.

“Your mother didn’t miscarry you, you had a shitty personality, and you were labeled, uh—too unattractive on top of it all.I would almost feel bad, but I couldn’t say you didn’t have it coming.You think you’re talented, but you’re as disposable as everything and everyone else,” he kicked a Styrofoam cup off the sidewalk, “No matter how much mommy and daddy pay for it.

You look like a dead body covered in boils, with hair dripping oil that could power 10 taxi cabs, and coming off as mangy, deformed, and un-cared for as a stray dog…but that would be an insult to dogs.I can identify by your accent that you, lassie, hail from the South…inbred, likely..it would explain _so_ much.

Needless to say, you can get fucked.”

“Is that nasty enough for ya or should I keep going?”

Christina had seemed only a little hurt—she actually took it pretty well.He initially came to the conclusion that she was the “can never take it back” type.

Instead, she merely drawled:

“But tell me how you _really_ feel.”

“Eh, I’m good.” He felt kind of awkward after that.But, she had asked.

“Actually, I think I’d rather see my parents divorce again then hear one more self-loathing, pity-filled squawk come out of your shithole mouth.” Christina countered.

“Well I’m sorry they had to literally separate in order to get away from you.”

“Ouch…” Christina said.

There was another pause, and Travis’s words lingered.Travis could have technically gone further, but he was about done with this wacky playground talk.He was supposed to be above that—he was a goddamn grown man!No need for childish meanness.He had forgiven her a long time ago.

She had surprisingly thicker-than-expected skin, however.

He cleared his throat.“I will say this,”

She was staring into the bright window next to her.

“I think you’re a tough little chickadee.”

“Same thing my uncle always said after he was done with me.”

That got a small chuckle out of Travis, and Christina smiled.She would be a lot more pathetic without her wit.

“You know, I messed up some..details..with your cab on purpose.I wanted to be sure that you had more of a reason to stay…and it would be easier for me to confront you.I send yet another apology of behalf of my….Trojan horse.”Christina was still looking at the window. “What can I say? I like games.”

“Actually, never mind.You’re not tough, you’re evil,” Travis teased.

“I AM IROOONNN MAANNN,” Christina blurted in song, now pointing to the Black Sabbath patch she had on her pants, which Travis never before paid attention to.

Great.Another music fan.Travis brushed off something imaginary from his jacket sleeve.

Not long after, he saw snapping fingers in front of him.Christina was trying to gain back his attention.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Say it again,” Travis advised.

Christina rolled her eyes.“I was saying that you were right in that I am from the South.I was born in Jackson, Mississippi.” “I’m going to Jaaackson,” she somewhat sang.

“Well that’s a long way!”

Christina was disappointed that he didn’t recognize the Johnny Cash song. 

“Do you listen to any tunes at all? Sabbath, AC/DC, Thin Lizzy, Pink Floyd, Deep Purple, Aerosmith, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Clash, Adam Ant?”

“Um. Nope.”

“Alright.”She crossed her arms and sniffed.

“Well, great talking to you Travis.Have a pleasant week.”

She tried to end it professionally, with little feeling. 

She kicked a puddle and knew that if the light fell it might electrocute her.Or someone who happened to walk by, someone pretty.She looked at it curiously.

Travis, who was previously doing anything to go home, couldn’t help himself.He had one more trick up his sleeve. 

One way he could always try to make a lady like him was taking them out to eat.They responded well to food, he observed.

So he inquired, “What do you like to eat? Anywhere, you can tell me.”

Christina was caught off guard. 

“No thanks, I need to get home.” 

“You gotta like some kind of chow.” He ignored any kind of creepy or overbearing vibe he was giving off to encourage an answer.She didn’t have to; but it might be…nice.

Christina looked in a few directions, and then finally answered: “Well…I guess I like onion rings…”

Travis clapped his hands.The noise startled Christina.

“I know just where to go.Tomorrow, of course.We’ll meet up back here.”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Christina confirmed.She walked very briskly back to her parked car, long awaiting her for the warmer ride home.

She realized she forgot her jacket at work, and had a whole ordeal of getting the keys to go back in and find it.She almost left without making a mistake.Almost.

She would listen to Johnny Cash and go to bed.She hoped she would have a new friend, a person who could truly relate to her.Her cat curled up next to her, as she also somewhat hoped that whole day had been a dream and she would wake up with no embarrassment of her speech, actions…her very existence. 

She wanted a new friend, yet she was intimidated too.Who wouldn’t be by someone who you once mocked as gay (he never answered her straight on that) and threatened in the most heinous ways, and may be now be the protective Icon of NY.

Travis, too, felt satisfaction with the potential of friendship.The itch had disappeared.


	12. Mending Part 2

September 30, 1976

Today became lazy with my few hours off in the afternoon, but it was definitely needed.My back had still ached from too much activity—or maybe too much sitting—in the span of a few days and long hours.Push-ups seemed to help a little. It haunted me to think how much closer I was all the sudden coming to the ages of 40, or even 50, 60.Despite my relatively “young” age, I was getting older, and I honestly felt it in body, and in my head.

For about a half hour I sat on my flat bed and propped up a pillow behind my back as I read the newspaper.It was rare for me to read the newspaper, as I found it shallow, but I suppose it was interesting to me when I bought it at the deli.

There were headlines concerning difficulties in Argentina, Muhammed Ali beating Ken Norton as heavyweight champion, and possible poor health from the pope.There were also the typical overviews of wage gaps, trade issues, and the high gas price crisis.All of us taxi drivers knew about _that_ a little too well.It was always we lower wage folk that felt the hardest brunt of this brand of bureaucratic, foreign-interfered crap.

There was the detailing of homeless Vietnam vets and that whole epidemic, as well as the abuse they are still given.The Soviet Union was continuing to test missiles, and China was in the final throes of their bloody “cultural” revolution.Thanks to Nixon and that asshole Kissinger, we know a lot more about the red states like China, and North Korea, somewhat.Red = dead.

There was one particular article in The New York Times that really caught my attention: The beauty section!

Ha. I’m kidding.

This article described a “band of hoodlums” who had been in a string of recent robberies, vandalization, and physical assaults.They were apparently mostly teenagers and young adults (of course they were), and some in the city protested their conviction of criminalization, including the younglings themselves.The article also criticized local police, off-duty officers who protested too, and went against rules to go off on their pay rate.

My thoughts about moving out of the city for my own safety, perhaps even for my doggone sanity, I recorded in another notebook I had.How I would plan my leave.I still debated whether to stay or go.If I had anymore duty owed here or if I should leave while I still can.I had no idea where life was going, and fear-mongering news just made it worse.

Too much shit backed up in one small world.

I knew I had some destiny, whatever it may be.I wasn’t born a totally useless waste of flesh, no matter how much I drilled that into my head at more depressing times.There was a beetle I watched at my nearby window.Bugs were still an everyday sight at this time, and I had killed about five flies that day, a few with my bare hands.That was gross to wash off.I don’t want them breeding.I don’t think I can stand the sight of another maggot. 

I wrote another letter to Iris (the paper’s horoscope section really made me miss her).I gave her some money, which I hoped would make up for her birthday that I probably missed.She never responded to me, yet I still hoped she at least knew she never left my mind.Wait, was that too skeezy?

I erased some of what I wrote (luckily it was in pencil) to make it sound a little less…I don’t know, potentially off-putting.I wasn’t a pervert or nothin.I wanted her to think good of me, I just had a real hard time expressing it.

Why was just simply talking to people so damned tiresome? Everything had a specific ritual, a specific set of manners to it.It’s just talking, good Lord.

Of course, in war time, it was necessary to take out and censor specific parts of letters.I had hoped this was peace time, nevertheless.

Now, to speed up the fucking pace and get to something more interesting, and happier: what happened yesterday when I ate with Christina.

Here we go:

The guilt over hurting her emotionally and physically yesterday was lingering.For about a minute it felt satisfying, but it barely gave a good feeling beyond that.Nobody who banged up people weaker than them was an actual “tough guy."I was raised to never hit or verbally abuse women, unless in absolute self-defense.I considered the latter part of yesterday a case of self-defense, it is what it is, but in the case of the backhand slap, it didn’t erase the guilt.This wasn’t a pencil. 

Plus, I wasn’t too fond of the idea of having to go to the more _public_ (shudder) auto repair because I may have possibly bruised one of the defenseless worker’s ribs at the taxi place, and am now eternally banned and scorned as an evil man.Heh.That would, uh, not be good, to say the least.

Maybe she needed a lesson though, whatever the result may be.She seemed to kind of enjoy it too, like it was weirdly fun for her, and the bruise was a mere battle scar.It’s all confusing to me.

I realized when I rose from bed yesterday morning that I didn’t give her a proper time to meet up.I had work until the afternoon.

I had to drive around a lot of tourists.I did my best to fill them in on the sights, and how to stay safe, but I don’t think they caught on to my grave seriousness in what I was inferring.This wasn’t DisneyWorld, shitfaces.There were literal pamphlets given to those coming in the city, with skulls, addressing threats and issuing warnings: “Welcome to Fear City: A Survival Guide for Visitors to the City of New York.”It advised holding onto purses, not walking in the streets after dark, and NOT taking the subway, among other things.Of course, the NYPD weren’t unfamiliar with scare tactics, but it had shiny nuggets of shiny truth.The tourists were acting like they’d never heard of none that in their safely secluded lives.No pamphlets found.

Damn we need a new mayor…as if government actually helps and doesn’t decay.But something, man—something has to change. 

So, after driving around my passengers, including a mother and daughter who argued the entire time in my cab, I parked the car (interestingly enough, it was running well _now_ ), and walked over to our assigned spot to see if she was there.

She was.

She was sitting on the sidewalk, right under the street lamp that so bothered her the night before.Of course, now it was as quiet and off-set as she was.It was still later in the daytime, and it hadn’t turned on yet, and evidently neither did she.

Uh, I didn’t mean to word it like that.

What I mean is that she was very quiet again, and deeply focused on her woodwork.She was bent over her a little block of wood she was carving with a sharp but attractive knife (knives are something of an interest of mine).She was deep in thought and concentration, and I think she was carving a raccoon.Or a possum.

No, actually, I’m pretty certain it was a raccoon.They are a native species in these parts…to put it lightly.One time I had to throw a rock at one to get it off my cab.I remembered she was an animal lover, so I _probably_ shouldn’t bring that up at any point.

I stood for a moment so that she could notice me before I sat down next to her.I folded my hands.I looked at the wood shavings that were collecting near her feet.She had smartly brought a bag to clean it up. 

She was wearing tennis shoes, and a t-shirt tucked into her jeans, which had a rip in it near the pocket.Her hair was actually brushed.Not once did she even look at me, not in my general direction, not even at my newly polished boots.She was entirely in her own little zone. 

And so it begun.I hoped I would get through the rest of this day.The drama of the last two days was more comfortable than this.

I almost said something to her, but then inwardly said screw it and focused on passers-by instead.I checked my watch.Come on, now.I had to return to the fuckery that night. 

I said, gesturing with my thumb to a direction behind me, “The place I was talking about, it’s right over there.We can just walk right over.I think you’ll like it—it’s a bar.”

She continued to carve.Rather than being impatient, I decided to enter her quiet place and say nothing myself, until I asked what she was carving.

“An animal,” she practically whispered.

“What?” I cupped my ear.

“An animal,” she said louder.I could see that.

I actually started to feel a bit comfortable myself sitting there, until she stood up, placed the carving and shavings in her bag, tied the bag, and walked off.

I immediately got up to follow her: “Where are you off to?” If she was already abandoning me, I had a rant about selfish, careless parasites of society just waiting to spill over.

“I’m going to the bar, man,” she pointed at the place I was previously pointing to, confused.

Ok, so I um, may have jumped to a conclusion or two.Whatever.We set off.Christina’s stomach growled, and she said though it was an early dinner she was already hungry.Implying that in the end, my date was set right on time.No one was too early or too late, no winners or losers.But don’t tell Christina that—she likes to win.She’s bragged about it damn near 5 times.

The point was, I knew what I was doing.I made a joke about her having low blood sugar and her mood changing from it, and she smiled a bit.That got her to open up.Like I said, I knew what I was doing.

When we sat down in the high seats at the bar area she informed me that she fixed the “Trojan Horse” while she was waiting.It gave her something to do, she said.She apologized again.

Apparently she already knew my time slots. I was a driver, THE driver, and I had a hard time remembering them.The bartender came over, and her entire expression changed.

She had no idea what to say when he asked her the simple question of what to drink, like this was a dreaded situation for her.Her eyes darted to me, and she motioned her head to the bartender, as if she wanted me to order for her.

“Would you like to see what we have on tap, sir?”

Christina’s face went from white to red.For a brief moment I thought she may punch the waiter like she did me, but instead she asked, “Do-do I have to buy a drink?”

“She’ll have water,” I told him, emphasizing “she.”

“Thank you” she mouthed.While she scanned the menu, she admitted that she doesn’t drink, even when the “dudes” (as she called them) at repair pressured her to, and made a joke about Rufus.I have to admit I don’t much like the thought of them pressuring her to do anything.

“Nothin? Not even something fruity, like peach?” I liked the sweet stuff but in here I just ordered a draft beer.I was always able to handle my alcohol.

“I bet you like the ‘fruity’…” She began to quietly taunt, but then remembered this was supposed to be a friendly get together of “mending” as she called it and caught herself.Her face fell back to the frown. 

I told her I respected her choice, even if it was unusual among most.I couldn’t stand drugs.She had nothing to say on that.

“Oh, yeah, hey!” I said to the bartender, whose back was now turned.“Can we can get some onion rings too for an appetizer?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t realize how expensive those fried suckers were, but I assured Christina I would pay for it.All of it.It was my treat.I think that’s the saying.

For what felt like the entire time we were waiting on our food, she said absolutely nothing.I knew she was quiet, but never to this level.Was this some kind of punishment? Because it started feeling like it, honest to God.

I tried to break the ice with: “This is your time to talk.Feel free to.”

She did reach up to touch the bruise on her cheek with cold water from the cup, and winced a bit.I took a swig of beer as if it would alleviate guilt.At long last, she said:

“I’ll tell the guys at the depot this shiner was from a work-related accident.Happens all the time….I’ve got enough scars to be considered a.…a…what’s it called…well I forgot.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” I told her.

Christina snorted and laughed in her low reverb.“I’m not protecting you.It’s a better story.I have to watch my own ass, too you know.They can’t know that I’m starting gladiator fights with customers.Besides, like I said, it happens all the time.Somebody gets a finger pulled off, a hand cut, hair ripped from their scalp.Accidents.I even have to advise parents not to let their kiddos put their chunky little fingers anywhere near the motor.That…kind of thing.”

We ordered our food.I wanted a steak, as per usual.I would probably not be able to finish it and have to save it for later, and that was fine with me.Saving anything was fine with me.Christina ordered a burger.

“Anyways,” she then went on to say, “I also reject alcohol because I hate being under the influence.I do not care for any substance that takes, uh, sorry, numbs the edges of my brain.I want to know and see everything in perfect clarity….crystallized.”

“In other words, you could say I’m a total blast at parties.” She smiled.

I smiled too.“No doubt.Parties suck donkey dick unless somebody catches on fire.I saw that once.True story.”

“Dang, really?”

“Really.Spontaneous combustion is a true-blue thing.” Or just a Midwestern thing, I joked to myself.

“I hope it was a witch.”

“Why?”

“Because thou shalt not permit a witch to live,” she declared.

I wasn’t sure what to say to the brute, and she snort-laughed again.It was kind of cute.

“Goodness gracious alive, you’re too serious…” She drank some water, and then remembered her words: “…that’s why I love mess-“ (she hiccuped) “messing with you.Lighten up a little for once…like a witch at the stake.”I think she said something about the disrespect to the holy natural order witches showed by daring to manipulate it, but I was mostly busy digging out my clipboard from my jacket and saying “Uh-huh.”

I laid out the clipboard in front of me at the bar, and stared at the blank page.This was a clipboard used for work, and when I brushed my finger through the pages, the info written down brought me great satisfaction.I stroked the blank first page with my fingers.I wish I could be a blank page.I know transformation desires were always either kiddy fantasies or weirdo fetishes, but I really meant this.The page and I were one, like in Buddha-ism where people rub the belly of the fat guy statue.For some shitty luck.

I’m not lucky, I don’t find luck realistic.And I never really noticed that I was that serious.I’m just….well, I’m just Travis.

I ticked the tip of the pencil onto the page, thinking.Christina tried to look over, and I guarded it protectively with a glare.I rested my face on my knuckles.It’ll come to me, I knew, it will come.

“Why do you need a clipboard?”

I knew she was going to ask that.

“I need to get organizized,” I said. 

That seriousness must have reentered my voice and face, because she turned away with discomfort.She stopped chatting again.

I had wrote something (what it was is classified) on the paper.I motioned my hand like a gear to indicate to Christina to go on: “What were you sayin? Witches and lights and…parties.Go on.”

I think she wanted me to pay more attention to what she was saying, but she sighed, “Clearly I’m bothering you.Fussy bastard.”

“You’re not bothering me, not at all; I said you can talk.”

“Now if you say some twisted shit…I might get a little bothered, you know what I mean? But I’m cool, I’m hip.”

Her frosty eyes narrowed.

I threw down the pencil and faced her.“I’m listening, alright! I promise!”

I glanced down at the paper, and had an idea.Gripping the pencil, I turned to her like an interviewer: “What exactly were those legal papers even addressing?If you don’t want to answer that, that’s fine.But you _can_ answer why you have so much to hide under a mask of a filthy mouth.”

She just chewed on the onion rings, one piece sticking out of that small, filthy mouth, and scowled her scowl at me.

“At a loss for words?”

She gestured dramatically to the basket of onion rings, and muffled “I’m eating bitch!”

I let her finish, and then she said:

“Pay me, and I’ll talk.”

“Are you a machine or something?”

“Sure.”

“I’m payin you with these onion rings.”

She looked up at the ceiling.

“Ha! Organizized.I get it.Groovy.”

She could go from words ranging from “crystallized” to “groovy” within minutes.At least she reacted to it better than Betsy did.Dammit, no—stop bringing up Betsy.

Luckily she had enough words held back to distract from Betsy:

“Now, listen…”. Her voice was clear, but so monotone she sounded painfully bored, even annoyed.Nasal drip also affected her voice, and the heavy breathing coming out of her nostrils made the straw wrapper near fly off.

“Everything needs an order, a law.Law and order should rule.”

I was listening.

“Everything, even the fibers that make up the ‘reality’ we _appear_ to witness, is all held according to higher laws, or law.What I’m about to say will sound pretentious as hell, but hear me out…” She took another sip, and leaned her elbow on the table.

“When someone says ‘there’s no truth except what you make it,’ that’s straight bullshit.There’s…there’s universal truth…moral truth that binds together what is good and bad.When people try to bend that reality…they suffer.Thus postmodernism has only caused suffering.It has messed with Logos….Logos meaning Word.The um, the digits of our uh, our realm.”Her hands motioned to the whole circle around us.

I didn’t know what any of that was, but nothing she said sounded _wrong_ to me.

She continued, “Just because you…want something does not make it true.A child wants candy, but giving him or her that lollipop won’t make it moral truth.”

“When we first met, you looked me up and down and said ‘uh.’You walked right in there like you were walking into your kingdom, but it was _my_ kingdom.I knew from that…that day you were placing your version of truth onto me, Travis.I rejected it.So I tested your morals in the face of immorality…I mean like I called you a faggot and told you to fuck your mother.”

Ah, yes, I remember very clearly her offensive remarks and name-calling.THAT’S WHY I ASKED.

“We all act in self-interest, right? Capitalist or Communist? That’s what Milton Friedman says, right?”

“…yeah?” I supposed.

“And economics is basically relationships when it comes down to it, right? Moral values…concern relations?”

I raised my eyebrows and rolled my eyes skeptically.

“SO, in our _economic relationship_ of supply and demand, I took into care _my_ own self-interest to make sure that you never came too close.I..I had uh, a couple men, in my life…and, I’m not in any way saying that men affected my decisions, I made them entirely myself…but…but I had these men in my life that may have influenced my…way of thought.

My first ‘boyfriend,’ you could say, was this boy named Jack.I was head over heels for him.He flirted and flirted, telling me I was beautiful.I had never heard that told to me before.I thought _he_ was beautiful.He would invite me over and kiss my cheek…and that was about it.We would go for hours in deep conversation.He was so smart.

Turns out…turns out he had another lover.Another boy…I’m sure he did more for him than a kiss on the cheek.I was used as his “disguise” I guess, and he told me he still cared for me, and I was still attractive.I couldn’t help but think it was because I’m mannish.Suddenly his… _their_ combined beauty filled me with hurt. 

So yes, maybe those sex jokes you’ve heard me make don’t seem so insulting to me now.You just happen to be the most favored victim of my resentment…..and until you prove me wrong, I still think you’re hiding something, like Jack.”

I cracked my knuckles.“Sorry that happened to you, but you shouldn’t let that affect how you see and treat others.Leave them be.And, I’m not your sex therapist.You don’t need to tell me your business and I don’t see how it’s any of your business where I put it.”I consciously ignored the fact that I had just tried to dig up her own business with writing tools in hand.

"I’m not trying to force out where you insert your pickle, Bickle.But you’re the one who tries to force their ‘moral law’ (she made quotation marks with her fingers) onto others.I’ve heard you say things about minorities far worse than anything I’ve ever joked about.You act in your own self-interest too, and you’re actually quite the postmodernist yourself.You apply a truth to your own life but not to others.You cannot force those who are confused to be good….you have to respect their individuality under this one sort of ‘umbrella' of universal truth…and then lead by exam-example. I think if you r-really want to make a change, you should be the change.BE that beacon of uh, of truth."

After all that, she simply shrugged.“Meh, *cough* what do I know.I haven’t been on this planet long.”

“We all won’t be for that long.The thing is, I’d rather be the one to die than have to a friend, er, a loved one, die.”

“I almost had a friend die…because I was too inattentive.I was,” she cleared her throat in emotion, “I was daydreaming.I do that a lot.”She had immense shame and sadness on her usually inexpressive face.

“Did that scar you? Is that why you’re being sued?”

“No.”

“Sometimes experiences, even the damn extreme ones, shape us,” I told her.

“It does seem that way…like um, like when I told you about the accidents….especially when you hear the screams coming from your friend in engineering school, when her hair was getting caught in the engine and it scalping her…

We were only training.This was, was in ’72…ah, that scream…I never, never want to hear it again.She was my best friend, and it was on my watch.You’d feel pretty scarred, too.”

Oh sweetheart, you have no idea.

“At least now I know that my short hair isn’t just a fashion statement; it’s a damn safety precaution!” She ruffled it, trying to lighten her own mood.

“I thought it was because you crave the carpet,” I replied.

“It’s none of your business where I put it,” she imitated my voice exactly, mocking what I said before.

“Put what?” I said with mischief.

She smiled, but ate instead of answering me.At least she was craving the food I was paying for now.There were still traces of sadness etched on her.

I wrote down some of what she said in record on a specific page on my clipboard.It was near information logs, as well as things others have said to me that I wished to remember.

I tapped my finger on the board, thinking.I flicked the pencil rapidly.Even more rapidly.Even more so!

The bartender tried not to look at me.I felt clammy, and waves of pressure tickled my outer skin.It tickled my damned blood something fierce.Flashes entered my head of a cabin, a sweet voice, a bloody hand grabbing mine, a lush palm tree, the woman with blonde hair on the ground, her body torn, the gunshots…the whip…the familiar voice “Travis, come in here,” it was all a painted mess.I tried to roar it away.“Not today, not today.You’re a normal civilian today, remember? Remember, this used to be life.”

_“Traaaaavis, Traaavis.”_

_“Don’t leave me. Stay with me.”_

_“Guts, Private Bickle, guts.”_

_“I love you!”_

_“I don’t know who’s weirder, you or me!”_

But trying to readjust to civilian life was harder than breaking this clipboard in half…which was now a tempting prospect.Sometimes I had this weird feeling like Travis Bickle wasn’t even my real name. Maybe I’m not even a real person.

I had no cause to find out that answer.I started scribbling on the end of the info page.The bartender finally opened his mouth.

“I know it’s taking a while, but I promise your food will be out soon. You need a refill, or something, anything at all?” He sounded fairly concerned.Don’t blame him.

“No, I’m all good, I think.”My voice came out hoarse.Sometimes I hate having to respond to folks.“I’m struggling with my math here.You know, counting the total, finding the tip, basic but frustrating shit like that everyone of us is expected to do.”

He laughed a little.“Totally.”

I think he was drugged.Every rotten soul floating around me was, no matter where I went.

The drunk man at the end of the bar wearing an Uncle Sam hat for the Bicentennial only infuriated me. If I had to see one more star…

I reminded myself to not be so serious, and so I burst out in laughter.

Christina immediately turned to look at me.

“Heheh, sorry, I just was thinking…thinking about this thing I heard the other night.God it was hilarious,” I rubbed my forehead and my eyes. “Ummm.Woo.”

“Did you have anything else to say?” I leaned on my knuckles again as the pencil finally snapped in my hand.

“Maybe you need to lay off the booze a little, bud. You have to drive after this, remember.” She said.

“Maybe I do.” I said.

“Let’s see, I did have more to say—what was I saying? Hmm.Dammit, what was it?” She thumped her temple and closed her eyes.

“Oh right!” She snapped her fingers.

“Your legal history?”

“No.The apostolic mantle.”

I squinted, asking, “The alcoholic what?”

“Classic Freudian slip.The apostolic mantle—it’s a saying.Do you even read?Sound it out with me,” she told me in her arrogant way.“Apo-“

“Apo-“ I repeated

“-stolic.”

“-sto-lic.”

“Man-tle.”

“Mantle.”

“There you go.Apostolic comes from apostle, a follower, like with Jesus.It’s basically a revelation, or mission.If you have a calling…to anything….you’re under the apostolic mantle.You’re supposed to hone yourself and your spirit under it.I feel like, like with our history…and what’s happened to us so far…we’re under something.If our missions collide again, we have to be under the mantle.Does…does that, like, make any sense man?”

“I’m gonna guess and say you’re religious?” After the witch thing and now this, I had to ask.

“When I have to be?” Her answer sounded more like a question.

At last—the food!

We were both starved enough by this point to dig right in.I cut my steak into neat little slices, and ate off the steak knife.The bread roll was good, not moldy—a success in New York’s cookery.I dipped it in the beef juice.The green beans I saved.

Christina, on other hand, was trying to wrangle her cow.No I mean literally she was having quite a time “cutting” the burger in half.She held the knife in a very unnatural way, different from how she held the whittling knife.And the way it was cut looked more diagonal.Blood trickled out, as it was _extra_ rare.Ketchup got on her hands and her face turned about as red as the meat in embarrassment.She sighed.

“You need some help with that? I don’t want you to cut yourself,” I offered.

“No, I got it.” She insisted…angrily….and..now..i’m using…her…speeecchh patterns.

She ate it as best she could, even with the fillings spilling out of the bun.She would just pick em back up and eat it with her fingers.I was kinda put out by her method of eating.She almost never used a napkin, and she had to lick things off her lips.

Not that it matters.

After we were finished, I checked the time.It was getting awfully close.

“Thanks for dinner.We should hang out again…Trav,” she said.

“Do you want to?”It was a dumb response, but I honestly had no idea of anyone who ever wanted to see me again after the first “hangout.”

“Hell yeah.You interest me.I was uh, I was actually planning to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art soon, since I’ve never been…but….but..always wanted to.Art and history….those good ol’ things.I have enough money for me, but, I think I can bring you too.You wouldn’t be alone on that day.”

After a minute of silence, she stuttered: “Actually…never mind, you don’t have to, dude…I-I can go by myself…I wanted to anyways.”

“It depends on the day, but it sounds like a decent outing.I’ll think about it.” 

“Cool.”Her face was a bit brighter, but she still had a chilly vibe.

I never had been, either.But it was a super popular tourist spot (of course The Statue of Liberty won there), so I drove to it plenty upon plenty of times.I’m bored by art, though.History is alright.

“Do you like to shoot guns? Workout?” These were my preferred activities, but no hurt in wondering.

“I lived in the Deep South…what do you think?My grandfather showed me basic hunting, camping, and fishing…I didn’t like slaughtering animals but it did give me some education with guns, and at least tidbits of survival knowledge if I ever happened to get lost in the woods again.Yes sir, guns can be fun.I just wish I was more in shape…not so…soft.I am already pitifully small.”

Again?

“It’s easy once you’re used to it.You just have to keep up with training and a good diet.If you’d like, we might also go to the gun range together, or I could show you some physical moves.”

“Ah man, yes! That’d be killer.”

“You know, that’s my nickname—Killer.” Yeah I bragged a little, ya punks.

“Uh-huh.Cause you’re a lady killer?” Christina winked.

“Only when they talk back to me.”

“Oh, so that explains last night.Lord have mercy.”

By the time I filled out the check, we were both snickering like a couple of middle school brats.

She appeared nicer and more normal the more I came to know her, even if her mannerisms could still be a bit grating.To be honest, she was put more put together than I was.I messed with the broken pencil in my hand.

“Have we mended yet?” I joked.

“I hope so.” She said, wiping her face with a napkin, thank goodness.

“I do too, because I gotta get back to the grind….” My voice trailed off.The bartender was locked on me.The drunk man was staring, too.I think everyone was actually.

They were staring like I was the Second Coming.They were smiling.Eaters and drinkers there specifically arched their necks to look at me.“What?” I must have muttered.

My discomfort was growing…growing.Little lights from orbits were searing into my bones, it felt like.The noise and clatter of the bar stopped, and yet the collective breathing was heavy, harsh, and the sound and smell of it was making me nauseous.I glanced out the window.Nobody on the street.

Not.

A.

Person.

Not.

A.

Car.

Remember, this is _Manhattan_.

“We do really have to go,” I said, swallowing.My throat felt scratchy.

“I know, I know, just let me go the bathroom first,” protested my company.

I surveyed the shelves in front of me.There were bottles, there were posters, there were cups, and there was a gun—a rifle.It was propped up on the last shelf.I remember distinctly that firearms were not allowed in public places here, even for protection.So why…

The bartender was laughing.We were now staring down each other.He was laughing at me, I know it.

Christina noticed my face, and asked in a slow daze, “What’s going on?”

A gunshot rang out not far from the building.

Everything in the bar had arisen again in what was being heard before, and no one paid attention to me now.A few people ducked at sound of the shot, and one woman yelled out, “HOLY FUCK!”Christina was blocking her ears with her hands.

“Where…where did that come from??” She breathed.

“I have no idea and I don’t look forward to hearing it again.Let’s go.”

She tried to drink one more sip, and said, “Gunshots aren’t too unusual, though.Maybe we-“

“No, we’re leaving,” I said.

I pushed her barstool out from under her, and she slipped off it.

“Now.”

She didn’t fall over, but she did stumble a bit into the next barstool, which brought on a drunken giggle from someone, likely in the mind that she was buzzed herself.

Christina looked embarrassed and a little angry, but I really could give a rat’s ass.I had to get us both to safety and out of any line of fire quickly.She said, “Why are..are you being such a sc-scaredy cat? You paid the check, you can leave, but I am an adult and can leave whenever, so stop with the orders, drill sergeant.”

“Please?” I pleaded with her now, more politely, gesturing to the door.

I looked over at the bar—the gun was nowhere to be found, but I never noticed anyone touch it.And I notice everything, everywhere, at all times.Head on a swivel, like I said.

She was beginning to walk over to me, when another shot rang out, louder and in closer proximity.Now she rushed right out as I held the door open for her.

I was currently in the darkness of the city.The lights were vibrant, and everywhere you scanned there were advertisements.Advertisements to buy this shit, or spend your money on something made in Asia that would fall apart in a year, or products to make yourself fuckable and not the scorn of the earth.My favorite were the advertisements where everyone had to smile, because smiling suggests people actually felt joy.That is, quite a concept, if I do say so myself.Oh, and the sex ones too.Skyscrapers, aged and modern, covered the streets in a protective, seedy film. 

“The way you’re acting I thought the building was on fire,” Christina scoffed.

“It very well could have been…just wait a few more minutes,” I said.

Before we could sneak away, ducking our heads, a truck pulled up in front of us.Other cars conveniently parked around it.Two? Three? In any case we were surrounded.I tried to step in front of Christina to protect her instinctively, but she was already at my side, standing in a defensive stance, her fist prepared and her carving knife out.She must have been in the same fight mode I was.I should try to see if I can acquire for her her own gun.

The truck was for some brand of cake decoration, and it had a large spiral logo. I actually think I saw it before Iris walked in front of my car the day I talked to her in the upper room of the brothel.Curious.

The truck rolled down its window.The driver, wearing sunglasses grinned.He said, “Good evening, you guys.”He was reaching for something.

I grabbed for a gun, anywhere on me, but I remembered I left that one revolver in the money box in the right-hand seat of my cab.

Before rolling it up completely, he threw at us both what he had been reaching for, and the traffic lessened enough so that he could depart.

We both shifted out of the way for the the book (it looked akin to passport) that thumped on the glass as it was thrown.I picked it up and overlooked it.I swallowed again.I need to take another cough drop or something.

It was a pamphlet, like the Survival Guide I mentioned, but with cake decoration instructions in it.There was more written in it, but I didn’t bother looking.

“What is it?” Christina asked.

“Nothing,” I said, and threw the pamphlet into a nearby garbage can.“Absolutely nothing.”

“Wow.Interesting.” It was a quiet “wow,” but one that seemed impressed…until she then criticized, “You should get over your fear of desserts and books.”

Thank you for your infinite, sarcastic wisdom, ungrateful little-

Nope, I was mending with her.We were mending.

“Well, there’s that apostolic mantle,” she said. “Indeed,” I said back.

I tried to bring up the gun in the bar, but she said she didn’t see one.Daydreaming again?

Out of my own high-wire nerves, I started smiling.“Who the fuck…?”

“Seriously, who?” Christina joined in, imitating what had just happened.“He’s high off cake,” she concluded, and topped it off with “This city is something else…yet my nightmares are worse than anything witnessed in it.”

“Gosh,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I have therapy now.” We just chuckled for a little bit, apparently forgetting that we were previously in mortal danger of gunshots.Christina spotted a stray dog walking past, and pointed to it.“Aw, look! I think it’s a Staffordshire mix.”

“How’s that?”

“I memorized every dog breed.Would you like me to list them? Affenpinscher, Afghan hound, Airedale terrier, Akita, Alaskan Malamute…”

“No, no, not really.” 

“Alright.”She didn’t even sound offended.It was almost mechanical, and she immediately shut up without even her heavy breaths.I guess she gets told to shut up a lot.I tried not to feel any guilt again.That is an emotion of sheer weakness.

She waved, and walked off into the den of homeless and prostitutes.I had to unwrap the entire event in my waiting times during driving, and as if the event itself wasn’t amplified enough, I thought Christina’s reaction was a little…understated.I know that’s her personality, but I hoped in the deepest depths of myself that she, or anyone else in that bar, was not _expecting_ it somehow.Like if I was set up.The way they were staring, man. 

She’s lucky I didn’t take her to see a “dirty movie” (as Betsy had called it) containing an orgy in a European language I don’t understand for my revenge! If gunfire and trucks didn’t put the fear of God into her…that would.Pornos are not a good tactic to ending the night with someone.I don’t understand why, but somehow, they are not.That lesson was still fresh and sore.

And fuck me, the next morning, this morning in fact, I was watching the local news and it said that bar, the exact same one, had been robbed the night before after lights out. 

“Interesting,” I said to myself, using Christina’s favorite catchphrase.


	13. Fear of Books

October 10, 1976

I was pacing in my room around noon, munching on a piece of burnt toast as the truck and little book came circling back to me.I kept pulling on my hair. 

I saw the rifle on that shelf.What happened to it?

I heard—we all heard—the gunshots, where did they come from?

The news was going on about mobsters, and how they call themselves “wiseguys.”

A knock was at the door.I opened to find a postman giving me a letter.It had flower stickers on the envelope.

“Thank you,” I said, wiping the crumbs off my mouth.By the stibble I felt I knew I needed to shave.

I watched the postman walk down the stairs until latching the door shut.

I almost did not want to touch the envelope after recent events, but after feeling it and checking for any residue I decided it must be safe.

I opened up the letter and read it.

_Dear Travis,_

_Sorry I haven’t been able to respond to you!I’ve been sooo busy, it’s ridiculous.How are you doing? Wow, it’s been a long time._

_I wanted to say thank you for everything, and my parents want you to come down here to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving.We could talk about and catch up on so much!_

_Is that cool with you?_

_-Iris_

Iris responded, she wanted to see me, maybe she even missed me.Iris _cared._

My eyes felt watery, and my hands vibrated with satisfaction.

Alright then, sweet Iris.I wasn’t planning to, it’s not my style, but I’ll try my best to come and see you.

I will.

I needed to pack, and make serious plans.Hopefully I wouldn’t regret this decision.Perhaps someone should come along with me.That was less intimidating than going alone.

——————————————————————

Later

Strange things are happing to me.Again.

It was yet another long night of driving back and forth, back and forth, helping the city with its air clog with car exhaust.I had to drive a dog to the vet, and one woman was spilling some spectacular secrets about her boss.Somehow, a wasp had gotten in.It perched on my shoulder for one entire ride, just sittin there.It left when I rolled down the window.

My last passenger was an old man, dressed all in black.He was wearing a suit, and had a gold watch—so he must have been rich.I guessed he had gone to a funeral earlier. 

He was quite old, and told me to specifically drive through Holland Tunnel.The Holland Tunnel had nothing to do with the Dutch; it was a tunnel under the river between Manhattan and the rest of the city.Someone once told me it was spooky, and it definitely had the underground feeling to it.I always felt that it may contain secret passageways or ports linking to New York and New Jersey.These places may be used to smuggle things, like illegal things…or people.I imagined mostly children being trafficked through it.

Despite his insistence, he ended up falling asleep through the ride.The dark grey, green, and red shades colored the atmosphere in the sleek tunnel. 

I parked to his destination, which was an old, tall house.I checked in the mirror, and saw him snoozing away, “zzzz.”I sighed. 

I was really tired myself, and I yawned.I rubbed my eyes and then drew my hands across my cheeks:“Mmmmm.” 

I closed my eyes for a minute, seeing the colors reflect back.Please God, I just want some sleep.

Finally, I rose to open the passenger door.I looked at him for a moment, and then tried to lightly shake him.

“Hey, hey.”

I knocked on the side of the car.

Great.

I put my hands in my pockets, and thought.I shook him again.

“Ugh!” He woke with a start.He smacked his lips and yawned.“Are we here?”

“Yep.We went through the Holland Tunnel.”I told him the amount due.

“Good!” He looked at the plate with my name on it.“So you’re Travis Bickle?”

“Yes sir I am.”

“That’s your name…your real name?”

“Yes sir it is.”

“Good, good! I was meant to give this to you.”He grinned and handed me a pamphlet…another pamphlet.

Then he paid and fished out another wad of cash, “And a tip.You deserve it.”

“Whoa…thanks, thanks so much.”

“What’s this about?” I asked, holding up the pamphlet.

“You’ll see,” he said, cheerfully.

He grasped my hand and pulled me closer.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Travis.Such a pleasure.”

“Thanks,” I said again, more cautiously this time.“Have a good morning, sir.”I hoped his hands were clean. 

The money was gracious, but it was the book that had my full attention.I flipped through each page, and then flipped through it again.My face got closer to the pages.

The cover had a peace sign, with a tie-dye spiral in the grooves.The design was slightly similar to the truck’s logo.The first page had a card with hearts on it, I think it’s called an Ace or something, taped to it.The next few pages were collages of people photos, including baby pictures with no names.There were a ton of blank pages, until near the end.

Now there was a lock of hair taped to the page.It was scruffy, black, and….

It looked a good deal like Ranbir’s wife’s hair.I should know.

What on God’s desolate earth was I looking at?I felt uneasy and had to drive swiftly back home.Sweat oozed and yet I was so cold it rattled my bones.

The last page had writing.This is what it said:

_Please come to the Loch Ness Inn near Canal Street and Holland Tunnel._

_This is a special invitation, and you have been chosen, Travis Bickle.Arrive cordially on November 6th to learn all you need to know._

_Led us lead you to Holland._


	14. Flashbacks

October 30, 1976

I was born on this day.Near 30 years ago and counting.

Alright, so I was born in 1948.That’s what I was told, and have in turn told doctors and employers.It would make me 28 years old today.But my parents said their memory was fuzzy, and may not be right.How did they not completely know?

Regardless, while I am 28, I have this lingering feeling like it’s wrong somehow.I think I might have been actually born in 1943.I’m likely wrong logical(l)y, but it’s like I can just feel it.I don’t feel my age—I feel older, and I look older.I may be 33.

Besides, 43 is a very important number to me.I see the number everywhere, and I think it might be a signal for whatever.Like the spirits are trying to talk to me.So I relate to 1943.

I guess Iris was right in that I am a “Scorpion” or whatever she called it.Where the planets are supposed to rule how I act, talk, and fuck.That sort of thing.I never much considered it or its alleg-ed meaning to my life. 

I guess, being my birthday and all, I should go ahead and fill you in on some of my backstory.I usually would not—I think subtly is a powerful thing and some things should remain under wraps—but what the hell.We’ve gotten to know each other this far, haven’t we?

I’ll give you the bits and pieces or significant chunks that I actually remember, as I may have blocked some of it out after the war (and it still isn’t anything worthwhile).Other things I will not tell in order to allow you your own imagination.Some names I may have changed so as to keep those in my life safe if the government happens to come upon this journal.

It was always frustrating having a birthday the day before Halloween, because all the kids cared about was candy and pranks and costumes.Not me.It’s weird even saying the word “birthday” because I never really had a true one, at least not one average people would recognize as one.Halloween was not celebrated either. It was a devilish holiday, Mother said, and I could dress up any day I wanted.As far as birthdays, well, I don’t even know why I never had a party, I just know I was always expected to act mature and not be “frivolous.”Cake, parties, ice cream, activities, gifts—those were all frivolous.When I did get a Christmas present, it was only for something useful.We had a tree, but my mother never went all out with decorations for any holiday.Couldn’t listen to none of the new rock music either.

I don’t want you to think I’m complaining about my childhood.It was mostly normal, I’d say.Normal for the conservative ‘50s in the Midwest, I guess.When someone goes crazy, they always gotta say “he/she must have been abused” but I don’t feel abused.I can’t say I was driven to anything just because I saw or experienced some shit as a kid.We were kind of poor.You couldn’t always get what you wanted and you were thankful just for enough food for three meals.I learned to not be greedy and gluttonous from a young age.I didn’t need a lot of food.

I did love anything Western and cowboy-themed.Cowboy movies and shows, and the whole image of a “lonesome cowboy.”The one who saves the day and walks out like a ghost.

My roots are and will always be in the Midwest.New York City may have become my unwanted “nest” now, but I came from a rural area and am first and foremost a country boy.I grew up in an extremely small but flat, wide place in the Heartland with almost a thousand people as the population.I remember a lot of fields, corn, hills, and frequent winds, tornadoes, dust, and snows.I remember the snow was more fun as a child, and the tornadoes excited me.I don’t remember anything before the age of six, but I do remember the little but cozy house we lived in: me, Father, and Mother.I was an only child.

My ancestors were probably pioneers of some sort, and I liked to imagine my heritage was a strong Anglo-Saxon one that came all the way from the ages of the Founding Fathers, ya know, Washington and pilgrims.My mother said that from both sides of the family I was of English, French, Dutch, and Romanian descent…she never said which side was what.Bickle is an English surname, and that satisfies me enough.The only family I knew were my parents and my paternal grandfather who lived nearby.My aunt, uncle, and cousins visited every few years.Oliver and Henson had adventures with me outside.

My father, Desmond Bickle, was a staunch survivalist and believer in the doomsday prophecy, to the point that he would dig holes in our backyard and bury things in them.He believed in being prepared, self-sufficient, and never childish.He warned me of the “powers that be” frequently and uh…did not trust Jews.He beat me with his hands and belt when he had the chance to, and there were many chances, but most kids at that time had fathers that did that.It was actually _common_ for kids to be disciplined.I just wish he hadn’t made my first memory be the one when I was six years old and he whipped me until I had welts for breaking a piece of old airplane equipment.He used to be a flight engineer for World War II until he was no longer needed.He read the newspaper often.He was tall, creaky, gaunt, and had a deep voice.He had this thick, black-then-grey mustache that drooped down to his chin like the kind you’d see in the 1800s, and little round glasses that slid down his large, hooked nose.

My father taught me to hunt when I was old enough.I’ll aways be thankful to my father for teaching me about guns, gun safety, and hunting more as for survival than a sport.He was a quiet man but smiled at me a lot.That was good enough for me I guess.

My mother, Miriam Furness Bickle, was a plain, religious South Dakota woman on the shorter side.She had thick brows, short, dark hair, and often wore modest prairie dresses.She had these wild eyes but she wasn’t mean. 

I don’t remember her telling me “I love you,” but she did stroke my hair and rub my thigh _a lot_. 

Sometimes she’d take me to the bigger town to give me fast food, a coke (if I had behaved), the Piggly Wiggly store, and pick out an outfit without holes in it so I didn’t look like a “ragamuffin.”She did occasionally convince my father to let me come along to the drive-theaters they’d go to, where I learned love for films.She watched John Wayne movies with me which were my favorite.She did not allow me to watch television for the longest time, however.It was new, and anything new was evil. She had detested the inherent dust of the Midwest, which was still raging even after the Dust Bowl of the 30s.She was the dentist for the small town, and she often held appointments in our own house and chairs.She was a strong church-goer.

Both of my parents put me to work and made me work for others from an early age.They did not allow me many toys, preferring that I only played with them on weekends.I had a toy gun, a toy horse, and toy Civil War soldiers and drum that I loved.

Neither of my parents smoked, but my grandfather did—a pipe.

Seymour Bickle was my grandfather.A kind, peaceful, and intelligent fellow with a white beard. He served for a bit in World War I.He worked as a funeral home owner and directer, oversawing (sorry, overseeing) much of the burial preparations and cremations.He would let me come in and see some of that as well, because I was never a pussy about it even as a youngin.I have many memories of the sights and smells there, from the parlor to the flowers to the various rooms.I enjoyed it despite the sad moments.Grandmother had died when I was young but I remember loving her macaroni salad.Grandfather would put candy in my pocket but could also whip me with an apple tree branch if I disobeyed.I learned to get used to the pain after a while due to my father’s punishments. I helped take care of his evil donkey, Simon.I would shoot at and scare his chickens sometimes as target practice.

For pets we had a cat who had kittens (she always had to give birth on my stomach), a turkey named Harold, a rabbit that was picked up by a hawk after letting it out once, a goldfish that died and l let it sit in the bowl for days because I didn’t want to touch it, and Chester, a male dog who was a watchdog, a hunting dog, and a good companion of mine who I let sleep by me in bed.

Now, finally, to get to me! I was born Travis Luther Bickle.You’re probably already laughing, you shitheels.I know it.Look, I don’t like my middle name either, okay.I always hated it.“Travis Bickle” is the full name I’ll permit.“Travis L. Bickle” is acceptable.It’s what most of my 3 certificates say. 

When most in our area were having a lot of children young, my parents had me in their 30s.Apparently my first word was “quarter.”They remembered _that_ but not when or where I was born.

Maybe I should like the name more, since I discovered it means “famous in war.” I was named after Martin Luther, obviously since I came from a firmly Calvinist background.My friend Amos told me it actually made sense, because Luther started a revolution of “protest,” challenging the monstrous Church, and I was always protesting or angry at something, even if I didn’t say it.My first name, meanwhile, came from nowhere.People have told me it sounds like “travel” or “traveler,” and I was called “Traversing Travis” once.I do like to travel, I guess.

But enough about names.

I had a deep Calvinistic upbringing, teachings and all, but I did not enjoy our Lutheran church.I don’t exactly recall why, something must have happened that I blocked out, but I do know I never liked it, and had a fear of going to it at a certain point.I think it was called Holland Church or something.

I was never super religious; I don’t think God is too fond of me, but to this day I have this quote of Calvin’s memorized: “Let him who possesses a field, so partake of its yearly fruits…let him endeavor to hand it down to posterity as he received it, or even better cultivated.”I’m surprised I can still spell all that!

I went to an elementary school until grade 4, when I first decided that school was not for me.This particular school was small, the building was previously an old church, and very few children attended.I had one good friend, Amos Potts, who was just the kind of kid who could be friends with anybody.He would remain my one best friend until we had a falling out in our teenage years.Amos and I used to joke about the other kids, who were often dim-witted. 

My first attraction to anyone that I can remember was our literature teacher, who loaned books from the library.Her name was Ms. Talbot and I recall her to be a heavyset Native American woman.For whatever reason, I thought she was pretty and smelled like spices at that age.

I wasn’t into much of reading beyond fairytales and Humpty-Dumpty, and got bored of it easily.It was like I could read about a page and my attention was soon somewhere way off.One book I always did enjoy, however, was _The Catcher in the Rye_.I related to Holden Caulfield and his dislike of phonies so damn much. 

They never assigned us homework past some writing here and there.I had to work a deal on spelling.Only now do I write.It used to be a fucking chore for me.I was fine with math, or at least counting money or whatever.Useful shit, not like now.

Eventually I was kicked out for lack of effort or whatever.That was fine with me because then I had more time to work with my father or wherever else I could find it.But in order to get any more semblance of an education, when I had the time I went over to our closet neighbors’ house, the Morrisons.They were Mennonites.Mr. Morrison had been a geography teacher for their former community.He was my greatest teacher in academics and taught me about being a man when it came to responsibility, protection, and duty.I enjoyed geography more than any other subject, and he would also read Scripture.

I wasn’t a fan of pacifism but I admired their simplicity.They had a lot of kids and I would come over and do lessons with them under Mr. and Mrs. Morrison.Then there was Adelaide.

Adelaide Morrison was their daughter, who was my age (about 13-15 at this time).Even in her dowdy dark dresses I thought she was gorgeous.She had a thick mane of curly brown hair that she used to show off when her parents weren’t looking; head cap removed.She had warm brown eyes, and freckles dotted on her nose.She was like the definition of a natural beauty.She was full of energy, and never could sit still.She was very clever and principled though, and I liked it.

Sometimes, though, I wanted to see what would happen if I decided to flirt with her.So I did. 

She thought we were just friends and refused it at first, but soon our crush became mutual.We were young and lonely, ready to try new things.I tried to take her to a drive-in movie once, and we often raced each other across fields (she was always barefoot.I thought she had small, pretty feet, even when dirty).I would grab my dad’s hunting gun and joke that I would protect her.I frequently took a hold of that gun and never once did my father find out.I would have hated to see how that would turn out.

I wasn’t some early sexual bloomer, but the first time I tried masturbation was something that haunts me to this day.

I was driving in the car with my grandfather, who had been teaching me from a very early age.He would put me on his lap.It was not legal for me to drive, but the police hardly touched where we lived.

On this particular day I was 12 years old and Grandfather was teaching me the roads.He stopped and told me to look out the window.It took me a minute to realize what it was, and when I did, I gasped and turned away.Grandfather roughly grabbed my head and forced me to look.

“Look, Travis.Don-don’t you dare squirm from me.Look good and hard..that’s right.”

I was staring directly at the sight.It was a 50s-era car so badly wrecked it looked like it was almost wrapped.Smoke billowed and it was damaged beyond repair, pieces hanging off like a mauled animal after the coyotes have been through it.

Half laying out on the ground, half dangling from the front seat, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life until Betsy.She was dead.Very, very dead.Her body was so lacerated and burned it barely resembled a body.A strip of skin was hanging off her stomach and blood pooled under the car.Yet her face was perfectly intact.It was a perfect face, with light makeup and wavy blonde hair like Joi Lansing.I just loved (still love) blonde hair.

It nauseated me to look at it, though. Grandfather had seen so many dead bodies I guess he was not affected.

“Do you see it boy?”

“Yes sir, I see it.Hard to miss it.” I swallowed hard.

“Good.Go and look, boy, because that there is the result of impulse.That poor woman has her brains splattered because she had bad impulse control.Never let impulse take control, Travis.Always be on guard.Never let it down for no one.Stick to your guns, your wits, and your own rules, always.Never betray yourself, or let your thoughts and…actions betray you.Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

We had to drive off quickly because the police noticed us and shooed us from the gory scene.

When I was alone in my room that night, I wrote some in a notebook but got frustrated because I couldn’t spin words for pigshit.The frustration went below my belt and I was a bit startled by what had just happened to my manhood.Out of curiosity, I took it out and grabbed it.Might as well finally see what this is all about.

I tried to think of anything, but I was young and hadn’t seen much beyond one dirty magazine.The blonde woman came to me like whiplash.No, no, I thought.Don’t you dare.

I couldn’t help myself.She had been mutilated and it was horrible but she was so freakin stunning.I saw nothing but her perfect face.

I was upset through the whole thing.I thought for sure I would be struck down by God that very moment for what I was doing, _what I was thinking._ A dead person, Travis? A horrid tragedy that you saw with your _own eyes?_ I was going to the deepest pit of hell.I was sure.What kinda sick fuck was I?

It wasn’t her body though—hell no, it was just her face.I was imagining her alive, and closer to my age.I swear.The whole damned experience and shame made me almost upchuck in the morning.Grandfather Bickle had made me look.

Some years after this I had the chance to be alone with Adelaide in my room.We were talking about some pretty deep stuff, and she suddenly leaned over to kiss me.It was a peck, but I had never been kissed by anyone and I couldn’t react for a good few minutes.

Finally she laughed and kissed my cheek.I tried to tell her I wasn’t used to all this, but she was kind of aggressive.I guess we were both repressed and exploring, even at age 16.

Still, I managed to fondle her breasts and stroke her curls. _Technically_ I had the chance to make it with her then and there, but I confessed to her about jacking it to a corpse.

IDIOT.

Needless to say, she left and didn’t talk to me as much from that point on.My preference for blondes after that only intensified.

I later found out that she had also kissed Amos.That’s when we had our falling out.I lost my only friend because of a girl, and I never _not_ regretted it.Then again, I always suspected he was using me for free drives anyway.I was the only high school kid that could drive before 16.I drove a lot of people around for money, but never connected to any of them.All connections I had frayed, as with Amos and Adelaide.Loneliness found me again and kept on following.

At least I enjoyed driving, though.It was nice to be somewhere, a vehicle where I was protected from the world, and maybe the world was protected from me.The muck surrounding me had little affect when I had control.I had control over the machine and the passengers.I could be alone or with another, but I always held the wheel.

Impulse could only touch me.

Being lonely is something else.Not the kind of “I want a fuckbuddy” lonely, but genuine loneliness.Where I lived was literally isolating, yet it had some degree of warmth even in bad winter storms.This city, despite being filled with every person imaginable, only made the isolation worse.Loneliness is feeling the need for another soul or even just a touch but knowing you can never get it because you have pushed everyone away and folks see you as nothing but another hunk of meat.It’s a cycle that feeds itself and can be either a weapon or a form of self-harm.It’s a chronic pain.

Back to what I was going on—I remember gaining the nickname “Scarecrow” in high school, for a rather interesting reason.There was a high school far off from the house that I could drive to, but again I had bad attendance, often fell asleep, and learned little and did not interact with anyone.The teachers didn’t seem to care either.It was like they were _too_ nice.

There was this group of large older boys called The Horses.I thought that name was funny and girlish, but they were respected because they came from the city of Pierre.They acted like a gang and had a history with drugs, which were just becoming more commonplace in the 60s.In the Midwest, that made them like hard-earned criminals.This was before I knew that New York City and the 70s would fuck this all right in the ass in terms of “hardness.”

The widespread yet tight-knit community of the town I lived in was wary of them, and their non-Lutheran principles.The leader, Ronnie, noticed me.No one ever noticed me like that.He said that he could tell I was tougher than the rest from one glance.So we started talking more, I drove them to their houses, and soon enough Ronnie had invited me to spend a night of trouble with them, despite the mean looks of the other members.We were to break into the high school and desecrate the textbooks. 

I tried to object, but it was no use.I felt like I had to now.The Horses and I expertly broke into the school that night, getting past a sleeping bulldog.I brought a lantern which lit our way to the principal’s office.There, Ronnie made a mess of the whole office and broke things.We stole the textbooks, and did a mass burning of them in a corn field.They stuffed the leftover leathers of the books with corn shucks.I never knew why they did all that.When I asked, Ronnie had only said, “Books are useless.”

They were laughing like devils.I still wonder why people do the things they do, but it all seems confusing, sometimes even pointless.They can put in a lot of effort, and I still don’t know why they do it.For example, one also killed a crow with a throwing knife.No reason.

Then they peed on the books.I was standing there watching, holding the lantern and my mouth open like a retard, when suddenly Ronnie turned and the urine stream doused my pants and a spit ball hit my open mouth instead.I spat and wiped furiously. The spit got in my eye, and while I was blinded they started beating me.And I mean a beating.

I fought back the best I could, as I was strong, but they were stronger.

“Next time you snitch on us, be a lil smarter about it,” a Horse had said while kicking my face and knocking out a tooth.

I had no idea what they were talking about.

Then, I remembered.I warned the principal the day before that they would try to do something.Why would I forget that? How did they know that? Why were they hurting me?

Those were the questions as the last punch was delivered and they rode off on bikes.Mine had been taken apart as I tried to place the tooth back into my gums.I was too tired to move, so I fell asleep in my own discomfort in the field that night.

The next day, I still stayed in between the corn stalks, sitting and thinking.I was almost a man now, and suddenly I felt helpless.I was forced to grow up early and yet I never escaped that lingering immaturity.It embarrassed me, shamed me.The corn stalks were covered in the bugs of spring.I buried the stabbed crow next to me.I kissed its head before covering it in dirt.I should’ve protected it.

I was so tired of being alone.I was tired of not being able to trust my own mind, much less other people’s.I was tired of being tired.I was tired of being a good little soldier.

But I knew I couldn’t stay there all day in my own pity.Memories were memories.I couldn’t bear to even look at my own muddy and scraped up hands.I wanted to chop them off. 

I was filth.

I tried to scratch it off but it only ended up worse.I was just scratching my own skin off at this point.

I grunted and my eyes flickered.The stalks seemed to be closing in on me.Some were mocking me.The colors were kind of distorted and it made me more scared. 

Be a good little soldier, be a good little soldier!

Holding my breath, I reached over to grab the knife torn from the crow’s body.I wiped the blood on my sleeve, and went to work stabbing each and every corn stalk around me.I don’t remember how many times, but I recall the names I gave to the stalks.They were all the people I knew: Father, Mother, Amos, Mr. Morrison, Ronnie.Each got a stab.

Then I threw the knife on the ground, panting.I stuck my hands back in the fresh dirt, and it was refreshing to me now.The stalks were quiet.They had seen me break.Now they knew.They would all know.

 _I_ certainly knew what _I_ had to do.

Calvin, Luther, and Caulfield, guide my hands.

I made a doll out of the cornstalks.I had learned this from a woman at the fair.I never knew doll-making would come in handy.I went to the scarecrow in the field, and took it down from its loyal post.I wrapped the doll to it in corn shucks, almost as if it was crucified.

I took both the cross and the scarecrow back home.When my mother saw me, she was more distressed that I had ever seen her.She told me to immediately go up and take a bath, and went on and on about violence and groups and how I need to stay home from now on.She never trusted any kind of structure outside of the church.When she asked about the doll and scarecrow, I told her to be quiet and not tell Father, almost threatened it.It was the first time I got her to back off. 

I was a man now.

I cleaned the scarecrow. I gave it back to the farmer and the crows, who seemed to be thanking me with their black eyes.

I did the same to the doll, and donated it to the church as some kind of strange art piece made from my pain.Maybe another kid like me would want it and it would keep them company while reminding them of being clean and loyal to the cross.The doll hung on the cross like a martyr.I always wanted to be a a martyr.I didn’t know it at the time, but it was all only a part of my cleansing rituals.

Purification, penance, and forgiveness were not far from my thinking.

The farmer actually gave me back the scarecrow, saying I could keep it if I liked it so much.So I placed it and propped it up in Ronnie and friends’ car to stare at them when they drove at night, and taped the knife to its hand.I could be a trickster too, you see.

That frightened them enough to move to another town.Some of the kids liked me for it but I was permanently expelled.I didn’t care.I went back to driving and helping with planes.It was Halloween, the day they moved.The day after my birthday.

My birthdays passed every year like any other day.One will stick with me, and…well, fine, I’ll talk about it. 

I was turning 8.I hardly ever asked for anything, but I badly wanted snowshoes.I wanted to slide around in the snow without freezing my skinny feet.After some pestering and my father snapping at me twice, he said he would make me a pair. 

I wanted new ones though, made in the city, that looked cool.Father ended up leaving town for two weeks.I don’t know where he went to.

October 30th came and no shoes.It was a cold year and there was light snow even in fall.My father would later say he forgot, and apologized, but said I shouldn’t focus on material things. 

I played with my friend Amos in the snow until it got dark.I slid around in my old boots and when it got cold Amos and I huddled in a car that he pressured me to start.I didn’t, but we did glide on ice.It was dangerous but that made it fun.It would all be melted by the next day.

It was a good day.

Amos then had to go home.I made some snowballs before going in myself.I started a fire in our fireplace and I tried to get off all the snow and sludge so Mother wouldn’t scold me for being dirty.Right after thinking about it, she called my name.It must be time for dinner, I thought.I hoped it was soup from hambone.

She was in her room.She called again.

“Yes Mother?” I answered happily at the door.

“Travis, come in here.”She sounded in a good mood too.

I opened the door.She was on her bed, and in her nightgown.

“Yes?” I asked again.

“Come in here and sit with Mother for a bit.I’m awful lonely.Where do you think your ol’ father is?” She asked with fists on her hips, and I laughed.

“I don’t know, Mother! He’s somewhere, don’t worry.” I hated to see her worry.

She patted the mattress and I laid down next to her.She didn’t seem to care that I was still muddy and shivering.She stroked my hair again, and touched my face and shoulders.I was glad to be close to her and in her protection.There was something about a mother’s touch.

Then her hand slowly reached down to my thigh….but my thigh wasn’t touched.She patted my hair again and told me to be a good little soldier for her, and when I tried to say something she shushed me lightly and stroked my cheek. 

When it was all done she gave it to me: the brand new pair of snowshoes.“You’ve been so good, you deserve it,” she had said, like everything was fine.

She took me into her arms and hugged me, which I don’t remember her doing often.“You know I love you, my sweet boy.I love you!” 

And so she said it.I couldn’t say I love you too.I just said, “Yes ma’am,” like such a good little soldier.I hugged her back, and felt her warmth.

“You need some supper, huh? I’m so awful lonely but I reckon I can make you a sandwich.You like ham, don’t you? I think we have some…”

I wasn’t hungry anymore.I didn’t much want the shoes, either.I ate and accepted it all anyway. 

I came back to her room more times after that, only because I wanted more of her touch and warmth.And I was maybe slightly afraid of what she would do if I didn’t.Slightly.

I just wanted her attention and it made me sad when she said she was lonely.Additionally, that was the only time she would say I love you or give me something, like a trip downtown or my favorite meal.I tried to ignore the nausea I felt.Whenever she and Father would kiss I would feel oddly jealous.One time I caught them about to do something, I don’t know if it was just normal love-making or he was going to rape her but in that moment I didn’t care—I felt this strong need to protect her even though she had given me hurt.I threw a bottle at him, I think.I wasn’t allowed to watch anything for a month after that.I gained a little weight.

The rest of my life from that point on was calm and boring.Like I said, it wasn’t a terrible youth.I did my duties, I paced around in loneliness, and I read a little bit.Father was becoming more and more concerned with the state of the world.We became closer during that time, and he showed me methods and ways of thought to survive in what was to come.

One of the important memories of my life happened earlier, when I was 14 I think.It was a November morning in the early 60s.

I walked back into the house that Friday morning/early afternoon after taking a walk by myself in my loneliness.The door was unlocked, of course.I hated that.We should’ve been way more safe even in the area we lived in.

Mother was in the living room and saw me come in and turned sharply back to the TV, where “As the World Turns” was playing (I preferred The Twilight Zone).“Shouldn’t you be in school?” She asked without turning around.

“Sure,” I said.I scowled at her.I didn’t give a fuck anymore and neither did I give a fuck about what adults thought.

I went into the kitchen to make a peanut butter sandwich.I shooed away some flies buzzing around.The bread was barely moldy so it needed to be eaten.When I got out the knife and plate I heard my mother call,

“I better not see a drop of peanut butter on that counter!”

I noticed then that the kitchen had been cleaned to perfection: it was like a museum where you couldn’t touch anything.That was my mother.I was very careful with the jar.

I rolled my eyes and responded, “Yes, Mother.”She was busy with her stories.

I sat down and had only barely started chewing my first bite when the show was interrupted and the screen changed.A serious news voice spoke.

_“Here is a bulletin from CBS News: In Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas….the first reports say that President Kennedy has been seriously wounded by this shooting.”_

The bite hardly went down.I gulped some milk and rushed into the living room.My mother turned up the volume on the TV.The show came back in full volume.Her wild eyes were wilder than ever.“Mother?”

“Hush.Let me hear this.”

The news returned and so did Walter Cronkite.He was reporting calm as a cucumber the events of the day and showed pictures.We watched until he reported that Kennedy had died that afternoon, and Johnson was being sworn it.You could tell he was holding a lot of emotion back.Good on him for handling it so well.

My mother seemed shocked for about 10 minutes, and then she said: “He was a socialist, though.”

I was in greater and longer shock.Why, was all I could ask.Why would someone kill the president? In front of his wife too??You can’t kill the president! I don’t care what party he was from!

I had a limited amount of respect for JFK, though I didn’t agree with everything and I was taught to distrust Democrats.

I mulled on it all day.Everyone did, of course.It was a shockwave to the whole nation.But the more I myself mulled, the less empathy I felt.I did not want him to be shot—that’s terrible—but couldn’t bring myself to _feel_ what everyone _felt_. 

I already could sense that it sure as fuck wasn’t one “messed up loner” who shot him with the dumbest bullet theory I’ve ever heard…and I’m not the sharpest tool.This was much, much deeper.Kennedy must have known something.Still, the “one man” thing in a general context had my interest.

No one knew what he was like in person.What he may have gotten up to—or his brother.The brother would die too.I respected the dead but there was something that fascinated me about assassination.Really fascinated me.

Especially since I had been thinking about my purpose and goal in life during my walk.

Vietnam was already raging by the time I was 19.I saw and heard reports, and I knew it was already a shitshow.Yet, for a reason I still can’t fully explain myself, I had a strong desire to go there, as if I alone could prove something.I don’t know to who, but it had to be something.I wanted to be somebody, and victory or death overseas seemed fitting to me.

I knew the Gulf of Tonkin was bullshit, and LBJ was nose deep into the war industry.But I heard enough.I knew what my destiny was.I knew I would never live long anyway.I didn’t much want to.

My father approved.My mother said I have to be a “good little soldier,” and stroked my face and hair one last time. 

No one else noticed when I left.I was all on my own and it was fine by me.I finally got to leave the one place I had lived in for so, so long.I was free.

I had officially enlisted by 1969 and went through Marine training until being shipped off to Asia.I took training pretty well.I had no fear of rough sergeants or other soldiers.I was clean and disciplined to a fault.I did everything I was told.When I was angry I kept it to myself.

I had a little difficulty with physical training, and almost did not pass because I was so skinny and roughshod with guns.My aim was sloppy, and “overkill,” somehow.

I made no personal relations with the other men, though I knew they connected through a sense of military brotherhood.They thought I was just a midwestern nitwit.I wasn’t considered too bright, and maybe I wasn’t, not always.But I had common sense.The fuckers couldn’t take that away from me.

The black soldiers did not like me.I had no idea beforehand that the army was no longer segregated.I was under the impression they would not be there, and when I saw how many there were, I wasn’t too sure how I felt, honestly.They were laughing with the white soldiers as if this was no big deal—they’re “family here,” but they didn’t say that.What they actually said might be too…colorful for young readers.

I know this makes me look bad, but really, I only saw one black person growing up.I wasn’t used to them.He was an old negro shopkeeper that was kind and gave me books.Oh, and they didn’t like that I called them negroes or any other slang term.It was a _lighter_ word of what I had typically heard.

Whatever. What else was I supposed to call them?

Anyways, I wasn’t close to the whiteys either.Or the spics, or the gooks.Again though, I’m not racist.I’m just not used to them, like I said.

A female nurse also did not like me for comments I made about her and her gender.Sensitive, sensitive! Everyone was sensitive in this new decade.Personally, I supported civil rights for all.Even the fairies, as long they stayed a good distance from me.Besides, I was far more gentlemanly towards her than the more lecherous others.

I was assigned a desk job for the first year, but the top general met me and saw that I had heart.I saw combat from 1971-1973.I was used a lot for tracking and recon, but I still have scars..from this and that.Even in the jungles I was usually by myself, knowing I could be ambushed by Viet Cong any moment, or subject to an illness like one soldier I was friendly with.It seemed that every person I found decant (*decent), died, was crippled, or left. 

Only one man changed me during that war.His name was Ernest Reid.We had a competitive relationship from the time of gun training.He teased me a lot, and I thought he was an irritant.Only on the battlefield did I learn to appreciate him after he saved me not once, but twice.He cared for me after I was shot in the ankle.Being more alike than we thought, we gained a newfound respect for one another, and he ate with me when I had usually eaten alone, writing in a journal.We judged the world side-by-side.

I never told my feelings on assassination to anyone, though.

Soldiers don’t typically talk about their time in wars.Not only because of secret information—but it also appears to be something universally agreed upon to not be dropped in conversation.No need to brag, no need to spill.

I feel that the war was a penance and a showcase of my most hidden sins that I am still making up for now.All of the things I saw and did in that time period are now coming back to me, and should never be uttered outside of myself.

Although I _do_ have a memory to share.I was walking in a deep forest, gripping my rifle to my hand and a large knife at my side, as if I was ready to skin the face off of the next poor soul that tried to ambush me.Blood was on my clothing, and Ernest followed behind me.

I kept poking my ear.I think I had some kind of fungal infection, and my lungs strained from the poisoned air.I couldn’t be concerned about it, however.I wanted to serve.

We were in enemy territory and had just shot a number of Charlie.I was usually alone on these types of scouting missions, but Ernest was becoming my new partner of sorts.He wiped blood off his forehead with the back of his hand, and commented, “I feel like Sasquatch dick.”

“What?” I turned to him, chuckling.

“It’s hotter than Hades, and it’s not even August.What the hell is this place?”

“Southeast Asia.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, ya brilliant bastard.How are you not sweating to death? Aren’t you from snowy areas?”

“Yes, but I stopped thinking about it.Aren’t you from Oregon?”

“Yep.I miss home.I can’t help it, man.I just do every now and then.”

I had thought he was blessed that he actually felt like he missed people.

“Where did ya learn to kill, though?” He asked, as if he didn’t just do most of the killings.

“I got used to it.”That was only half-truth.

“Yeah.The thing you have to remember, Travis, is that we all have a one-way express ticket to death.Most of us probably to hell, if there is one.Don’t be afraid to help send people there.It’ll only quicken up your pace to it.Trust nobody, and believe the worst in all.Don’t listen to bullshit that blows sunshine up your ass.No one gives a fuck about you, trash is everywhere, so don’t be so easy on them.”

Ernest was a little older and often felt like he had to give me advice.It didn’t take me long to realize he hated the human species.I said, “Not every-“ (a branch had almost whacked me in the face) not everyone.You have to trust _somebody_.There are good people in the world, it’s just the bad that get the attention.” Even the Viets had family and homeland.They were people too.

“Oh, Travis,” was all he said.

We were perched in a valley where a river used to be, judging by the soil.We were on guard and sat in silence for a while, even wiping our guns.We crept back over to the field and glanced around.

Then Ernest decided to sneak across the field to search, and I heard something louder than anything else.

I jumped when the mine went off.It caused pieces of grass and dirt to scatter everywhere.I raised my head and shot into the distance, which was a dumb move that I did randomly.

New drops of blood had gotten on my face.A second, closer mine went off.My ears were ringing and my veins felt chilled.

Ernest lay on the ground, coated in mud.He was holding onto his hand, where blood was flowing down the arm, and fingers were missing.He had lacerations and burns all over him and he kept moaning, “I can’t see….I can’t hear…i can’t see…my hand…no hear…”

After a moment of shock I ran up to him and covered his mouth.“Shh. I know it’s…oh, Jesus.Just…shhh.”

It was only in vain because we were then caught and captured, though we struggled fiercely.I was still new and young and Ernest was injured, apparently deaf now, and so we must have been easier prey.

One of our superiors had been a prisoner of war for the Japanese, and told the horror stories.I didn’t know that one day I would get a first-hand look.

There are some things that a human being should never have to witness and experience, even those as bad as Ernest described.I lost a lot of faith in that time.I lost faith in my family, who drilled the good little soldier into me, I lost faith in my friends, those few that had abandoned or betrayed me.I lost faith in the country, which was making creatures out of men for their own greed, and I lost faith in God, who I guess was no longer listening.Was he ever?My religious upbringing was slipping away fast.I lost faith in myself.I was so stupid.So fucking stupid and worthless. _Worthless._ What had I done? What did I have to show?

The funny thing, however, is that I noticed I could become numb quickly.I was hard to break that way.I just…put walls up.The harder things tried to break me the more my destiny became clearer.The war shattered any innocence I had left and bruised my youthful spirit. It also gave me a taste for destruction—already there before.The incident in the corn field had not left me.

What I feel may have been 5 months later, an American Marines unit recaptured the Viet Cong base.It was a long shootout, and I had doubts they would win.But they did, and shot or took prisoner our captors. 

Once I saw that I was released, I took one of their handguns and beat a Vietnamese man to death with it.A Marine tried to stop me so I shot him.No one would know I killed one of my own.I was too much in a daze to feel my usual post-kill guilt, and so I stacked their bodies in a corner and left, as the place was now on fire.I didn’t care that it contained useful supplies for the US.I didn’t care that any tidbit of information could prove to help further young men and boys from sacrificing their lives and the joy of their families.

I didn’t. I’m sorry.I had to get us both out.

The Marines evacuated as the base blazed to their bewilderment.I found Ernest, and through extreme heat I managed to pull him out of his binds and put him in the front seat of a car.I didn’t stop to think exactly whose car it was; once the engine started, I drove away.I glanced over at him again and again.

“Ernest, buddy, hey! We’re leaving! Great, right?”

Ernest was in a total catatonic state.He looked hypnotized…maybe even brainwashed.There was nothing really in there.He was a broken, tortured vegetable.

“Reid,” I shook his body, “Come on, wake up.You’ll be in Oregon in no time.”

“Alright, um….you’ll be ok.This will all turn out fine and fuckin dandy.”

“Fuckin dandy.Fuckin dandy.Fuckin A!” I must have repeated in a harsh whisper 10 times.

I had more energy than I ever did.I felt like a hero.I was going to save him. 

My sense of direction was never amateur-ish—after a few wrong turns I found our base.

I parked off from it.Suddenly I had an overpowering fear of seeing “comrades” despite escaping the devilish slant-eyed fucks.Something would eventually catch up to me.I deserved more torture—I knew it.I was actually among the lucky.It should’ve been me, not Ernest.I tried to shake him again.

“Reid? Talk to me man.”

His eyes were blinking and his breath was shattered.I pursed my lips and looked out of my window.A lush palm tree swayed and tried to comfort me.I stared for a long time until turning back to Ernest.

“I know you’re gone, but try to tell me one last thing.What did they do to you? Were Americans involved?” I had endless interest in American brainwashing experiments.I had to try and ask. 

He muttered something, said “I love you” like I was his woman or mom, and his head fell over.I checked his neck.No pulse.

I felt a gnawing sadness and guilt.Shit, man.

So many questions I had, so many things I regretted.Yet, I was not mopey about it.His time had come like he said that all of ours would.I wished he had answered my question.

Something hardened in me and my face lost expression.

I never had a lot of empathy, and some of the last remnants had left.

A soldier ran over.

“Bickle? You’re… _alive_?”

I closed the door with the last scraps of my wrath.I pulled out Ernest’s corpse and carried it all the way to the base.

“Alive.” I repeated in monotone.My eyes gazed and were never the same since.

Due to my recklessness, poor mental health, irresponsibility, and sustained injuries, including a deep gash on my back that had left a scar, I was believed unfit for combat and likely to return to my desk job.I fought over that until they gave me a driving job instead.I was to drive supplies, men, and food for the company.I was good at it.

I’ll leave it you where the back scar came from.

I wasn’t even driving much by the end of the war, as my health continued to deteriorate.

At one point we were stationed in the capital city of South Indochina.It was there that I saw more civilians, and had to try to remember what that life was like.I first heard about the My Lai massacre there, which had happened a few years ago.I think it may have been used as Anti-US propaganda.There were no CIA agents to question, much to my disappointment.

There were some journalists and photographers.They never took one of me.I was camera-shy. 

Oh yeah, and I lost my virginity there.It was to a Viet prostitute named Linh.She must have been 19 and had beautiful black and silky hair.I was told by other soldiers that “yellow pussy is the tightest” but I had a deep dislike for hookers. 

Disgusting.

I guess not being around enough females was enough to get me hard from one look at anybody reasonably attractive.I paid her to hug me first. I just wanted a gentle touch.

For a few nights, she nursed my loneliness.I was touched, I was talked to (she had shockingly good English) and eventually I was fucked.

I ate her out first, despite it smelling fucking AWFUL.I thought that was what you were supposed to do to warm them up first, and I was a gentleman like that.

Even in sex I had to be a good little soldier, because I should never have put my mouth where God knows how many men have been.Still, I kissed her in odd places and she tried to teach me where to put my hands.I finally stuck it into her after a long-ass fit with a condom and went to town. 

Once I may have poked her too hard in the gut.I was a bit rough, but slow. 

Linh was surprised by me because I gave her food and tried to take her out for walks.She thought it was unusual, but sweet.I wanted her consent for everything.She had been treated like an object for long enough.Within a week we had a budding friendship.

After two weeks I tried to convince her that I was in love with her and wanted her to return to the states with me.She got freaked out for some reason, and attempted to push me away.

It’s a pity what happened to her.

After a few more truck driving runs, there were orders to pull out.Communists were surrounding Saigon.We were all confused, as if losing still seemed a far off concept even if the war was a mess to begin with.

A lot of us left, and I was honorably discharged in ’73.My commander told me I had guts, and not to spill them.

I hoped deep in my soul no one would treat me like a war hero…I was not.Ernest was, if anything.War heroes don’t exist anyway.Anyone seems like a hero if they’re fighting for your side.

But that was fine, because we got treated like dog shit instead.Especially by those liberal hippie punks.I felt like America was another world I stepped into, not one I recognized.

This was no longer somewhere I fit in.Maybe I never did.

Even the simplest of things seemed hard now.I blamed it on laziness.

I wrote my parents telling them that I was fine and I loved them.I dropped it on their doorstep, not knowing if they still lived there or not.I certainly didn’t want to live there, not anymore.

I made a grand decision—to move to New York City.Why New York City? Because I had heard it was a very easy place to make a living.I wasn’t a city person but I did need money and fast.

I was amazed by how tall everything was when I arrived.

Then, I saw the trash on the street.It all deescalated from there.But it was too late to turn back now.

I moved into a shoddy little apartment and decorated it with a lightbulb.I spent much of my time riding buses and trains and in taxis.I had no idea where I was going.Some place had to accept me eventually.

People simply became moving objects. I had no concern for them and they had no concern for me.That seemed to be a pact I made with humanity from the time I could talk. 

Sometimes I longed for another hug, but then I slapped myself out of my fruitiness.

When I moved into my apartment, I knew it was shittier than a New York McDonalds bathroom but I also knew I would stay in it for a long time.I just needed somewhere to live, like any normal human being needs shelter.I was as homeless and lost as the scrubby people I saw on the street.

It was dark except for a window, and I saw a rat run off as I opened the door.The walls were old and peeled, and the floor was hard and smelled vaguely of cat urine.I settled some of my boxes in corners to make furniture until I unpacked my few things and tried to buy real things with the money I had left.I was exhausted.I couldn’t unpack for the first week, and I slept on my army blanket on the floor.I actually slept fine but would have nightmares and it woke me up at strange hours.I usually would have to piss but was almost scared of getting up to use the chlorine-reeking toilet in the pitch black, so I held it and would stare up at the ceiling and crawling water-bugs until I fell back asleep.

I usually ate fast food and junk food.It was easy, cheap, and I thought it tasted good, so why not make myself feel better with it? At the same time, it kinda made me feel bad too, so maybe I thought I could punish myself with temporary pleasure.

Thank God I realize the importance of health now.

I wore my veteran’s jacket all the time, and after watching a rerun of the original King Kong in a theater (I had some money from benefits), I touched my patch constantly for reassurance.

I didn’t have sex again until a quickie with one girl who went after vets.Prostitutes approached me, but one experience with a whore was enough for me.I probably could have tried to find someone if I really wanted to, but I no longer felt attachment to my fellow humans.I didn’t want their stinking bodies near or on me.I turned to porn, and I was hooked.I could release tension without any other touch but mine.

I liked the blonde actresses the best.Natural, of course…none of that dyed crap.

I did try to commit suicide.I went to a doctor for my back and they ended up giving me pain pills.I became addicted to them, and alcohol.They then referred me to a psychiatrist, said I was “traumatized and depressed” and gave me even more meds.I didn’t want them but I tried to see if they would help.They didn’t. 

One day I was ready to just leave without a trace.Why was I even alive?So many others, including my company members, deserved life and it was given to me, a human parasite, instead.I wanted to go.I was done.I wanted my corpse to become dust.I did not want a burial.I hoped my blood soaked into the room below me, the loud couple.Then they could have some “trauma” too. 

But I didn’t have a gun.So I tried to overdose on pills with a shit ton of gin and acid I got from a dealer.

I had convulsions and passed out for a day but I didn’t die.Whaddaya know.

I threw away a majority of the meds.

Luckily my mood improved much more after that and I snapped out of it, mostly.Suicide is selfish, I told myself.You’re gonna suck it up and have dominion like Calvin said.Find grace and calling and become the boss.That’s what I told myself, anyway.

It wasn’t long until it was my day of birth.I forgot about it until it hit me after getting off a bus at night.I didn’t think anything of it, but a nearby pastry shop encouraged an idea. 

I wanted a birthday.I wanted to feel like I had one.No person could stop me now—I was a man.

I was a man who wanted to be a child just once.

I bought a large cupcake from the shop.They gave me an old one because it was the cheapest.I took it back to the apartment, which was still not fully decorated (it never really would be) and I swept the floor so I could sit down on it.

The flickering lightbulb had gone out.It was dark again.

I pulled out my lighter that had an American flag pattern on it and opened it.No one was here.The complex was quiet.My parents were gone, they never responded to the letter.I had no friends—they died or left.I had no lovers.They died or betrayed me.Not even the bugs and rats were out that night.I had felt alone in bars and clubs.

I was alone.I knew deep in my heart I would always be alone.I was broken, and even when I felt good I knew I would break again.I was a ticking time bomb that was in a hellish cycle of resetting and setting and setting.My mind matched a clock’s ticking, but far more rapid, confused, and in an offset sound that drove my soul crazy.I had hatred in me that I couldn’t get rid of.Hatred for all.Ernest’s, my father’s, and grandfather’s opinions formed a monster in me.I rejected everything that surrounded me in that city.Why did they have to be so damn degenerate? What happened to purity? The city itself made me literally sick.I felt like I had a nonstop fever…but I still went on.

My personality was splintered and I no longer recognized who I was.What was my purpose again?

Setting and setting and resetting.

No one wants somebody who’s violent.

No one wants somebody who’s hateful.

No one wants somebody who’s broken.

Again.Again.Again.My own flesh seemed like it was gnawing on me.I wished I could take it off with or without pain—no matter.

No one wants somebody who’s alone.

Even if I did kiss or hug or have sex with somebody, it was because that was expected.I was still alone.Someone may love me but I can feel only the base urges.But you look into my eyes and there’s nothing really there.I may show my own love but I’m gone.I’m long gone.I’ll always ruin any good thing, like I just have to destroy it if it’s beautiful or has potential.True intimacy has never been something I can do.

Of course, I always told myself I would find something or someone I loved and that would be it.I tried to think of myself as destined for greatness.I would hallucinate and talk to myself.Right now I’m not so deluded.I can’t say for tomorrow, or the next day.Today I’m clear-headed and sane.

I have my good day and bad days.Don’t we all?

Loneliness followed me my whole life.Maybe that was my purpose, to be a symbol of what it means to be unnoticed and still go down in flames.

Flames—I had looked at the little slice of fire lighting up my face and the cupcake.Fire reminded me of Vietnam, yet it calmed me too.

I looked up at my burnt Viet Cong flag, darkened except for the yellow star.My war trophy.

I took out the keepsakes I brought from my old house, and laid it out in front of me.Each one represented a different person in my life—even the “scum.”Father, Mother, Grandfather, Mr. Morrison, Adelaide. Ms. Talbot, my general, my sergeant, my cousins, my dog, black men, gay men, Vietnamese men and their families, the dead woman from the car crash, and even prostitutes.

I laid out Catcher in the Rye in the front to represent Holden Caulfield, who I always identified with and wanted to pretend that he was with me to support me.

They all surrounded me in spirit, and I dedicated the cupcake to Ernest as well as myself.He never lived to see his birthday and he deserved it too.I hoped everyone suffering, so many worse off than me, could enjoy it.I imagined they were laughing, and had forgiven me.

A scarecrow rose in the corner to put his hay-hand on me.I felt like a somebody. 

The possibility of real love and understanding was too much for me then, and I started weeping.Not crying, weeping.

The tears stung and ran down my face in streams.I heaved and tried to stop it but it was too late.I had realized I had never cried until now.I was never able to.

I rocked a bit, and softly cried out every flashback that has shadowed me from every moment of life since this God-forsaken day I was forced into this world—a world as broken as me.

I really was a child now.I was just a boy lost in the dark.Still lost, and cold.The darkness around me covered me like a cold blanket.

“Travis, you know I love you.I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”My voice choked answering my mother’s voice.I had not said those words before until now, and I actually meant them.

I looked down at the uneaten dessert with blurred vision.This alone was mine, I didn’t have to share it.Ernest approved—I knew he did.I tried my best to save him and he knew it.

I became firm again, as if I switched automatically to a soldier’s restraint.I was truly alone now…but suddenly it didn’t seem too bad.The dead silence allowed me to hear my own heartbeat.It matched the motions of what the lightbulb had earlier.I smiled again, tasting the salt from my tears, and began to lightly burn my fingertips with the lighter.It hurt obviously, but eventually the feelings numb.Numbness and jazz music on the radio were my real medicine; not those fucking antidepressants, antipsychotics, and sleeping pills that were shoved down my throat by stupid-ass doctors.Those only clouded my brain even more and were expensive as shit. 

I didn’t need them anyway.Why would they even give them to me? They think I’m a loon or something?Fine.

I looked down at my cupcake. I remembered the assassinations of the 60s, and I smiled.There it was.Loneliness didn’t hurt me right now—it stroked my hair like my mother used to.My purpose was death. 

I’d meet them all again.In a place where pain had no place, I was noticed, and love was not far-away.I’d meet them sooner than later.It was clear to me now. Until then I would survive—probably my greatest talent.

I sang a special song to myself.I quietly sang in a still shaky, off-kilter voice, holding it all in like a good little soldier:

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you.

Happy Birthday dear Travis…

Happy

Birth-

-Day

To

You."


	15. California Dreamin'

November 7, 1976

I’m sure you’ll be wanting to here about the pamphlet group, and what that meeting was all about.It’s been all I’ve thought about since.

Well I’ll tell ya. It’s a tale!

It started yesterday afternoon.I dropped off my last passenger, which I had only 3 that day.I dropped her off at Delancey Street, which used to be an immigrant hub.I was relieved to have so few passengers, as any more would have only dragged on my nerves.My nerves had been high-wire all day. 

I debated whether to go from the time I got the pamphlet from the old man, and now it was the day of.I finally told myself I would, and then hesitated out the door.After the passenger got out, my cab was off-duty and I drove to the tech store.

I opened the door, which had a bell that made a jingle to alert my presence.Only one other person was there.I made sure to keep my eye on them while browsing.

“Good day,” the man at the counter said.

I nodded towards him.He had those sideburns that were trendy with men but irked me.

“Let me know if I can help with you anything.”

“Sure thing,” I said with a smile that faded as soon as I began looking.

I had to look over equipment I had little idea how to use, or what the names even meant.The radios I recognized, but those were not on the menu. 

I walked over to the man at the counter and asked, “Do you know where the recording equipment is?”

He looked confused.“What kind of recording equipment, exactly? There’s many different kinds.Are you looking for video or audio, first of all?”

“Both, preferably.”

He scratched his chin.“Hmm. Mkay.We have very few in stock, but I assure you they are state of the art.” He led me over.“Come over here with me and I’ll show you.See if there’s anything you need in particular.”

He showed me to a back wall with devices both large and small lining it, the new advanced technology nearly boasting in their shining appearance.

There were tape recorders, some that looked professional, and others that were more simple.Some had big rolls and others only buttons.There were cameras for both family video tapes and more professional filming.I scanned quietly for a moment, checking and testing the ones that looked the most promising.

The man was telling me what their names were, and all I remembered was that one of the bastards was on magnetic, and others were distributed by Sony and others by Panasonic.He said it was even used by spies, allegedly, like in that movie The Conversation.He was probably pullin my leg though.He noted how some rock bands used them.

He pulled out one especially fancy device.“Now these right here…oh boy.This is the same prototype that Nixon used and helped to bust him.These can catch anything.”

“Really now?”

“Yes sir.Hey, you ever see that film that came out in April, what was it called…”

I had seen a _lot_ of films in my spare time, so I stopped myself from saying “Yes” before he could even ask.

“…Uh, yes! All the President’s Men.It’s reallyyy good.Nominated for an Oscar, even.It deals with the Watergate thing.It was well done.”

“No, I haven’t seen that.”Did I mention most of the movies I saw were low budget?

“That Rocky movie is coming out, that looks good too.”

I’m guessing my face was as blank as my thoughts.

“Um, anyways, is this the type of audio recorder you’re looking for?”

“How long does it last?”

“A pretty long time.It’s best at recording conversations.”

“That’s what I need.Now how bout that video camera over there?” I pointed to a camera in the corner that was a sleek silver and black and appeared to be portable.

“Ah, that there is the Kodak Super 8 home video camera.Tsk, they’re super popular.We only have one left, but it works good as new.”

“How much for both the tape and video recorders?”

He told me the amount and I just blinked for a minute.To say it was expensive is to say the Pacific Ocean is damp.And this was the cheapest tech place I knew.I dug through my wallet again and counted my money.I saved up a lot for this purchase, but I was going to have to take more from my savings.No groceries for a couple weeks.

“I think I have enough,” I told him, and he grinned.

“Awesome! Great choices, I must say! If you don’t mind me asking…what are they for?”

I paused, and then answered, “I want to be able to record my kids and have solid memory of them while they’re still little cutie pies, ya know….I also need to help conduct an interview, of sorts.”

“Oh.I almost thought you needed it for top-level spying or something, heh.But I get you.I have one myself, she’s graduating middle school.Daddy’s proud.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sharon.”

“I hope Sharon does well in high school.It can be rough.”

“Right.”He led me over to the cash register and we both inspected and tested the devices one last time.

Perfect.My nerves turned to a bit of excitement.I clenched and unclenched my knuckles in anticipation.The other customer gave me a strange face as they left.

I paid, and the camera and recorder were put into a box, as sideburns-man advised I handle it carefully.I thanked him and we parted ways.

I loaded the box in the back of the taxi where I had laid down a blanket to go underneath.I tested out the camera, and placed the new battery into it.I used it to record the streets around me.It worked great.I grabbed the recorder and recorded myself saying “All the king’s men cannot put it back together again.”Sounded fine.I was ready.

I wished the camera wasn’t so obvious and clunky, but I didn’t have time to wait for the future of more port-ab-le and easily hidden machines.I covered the box with another blanket and leftover pieces of litter from passengers to try and prevent theft.I pulled out my duffel bag and carefully laid the camera in it, among other supplies I may need.Nobody was watching me, so I was good to go.

I put the bag in the front seat, but not before taking out a map.I drove to the Holland Tunnel.

I was so used to it I drove right through it.I stopped and reversed, “Fuck, where am I going?”

I drove up it again, slowly, and paid close attention to any indications of a secret route or doorway along the tunnel.I remembered the words of the pamphlet: _Loch Ness Inn near Canal Street._ I’ve been on Canal Street and there was no “Loch Ness Inn,” only a Chinatown.Where and what exactly was _near_ it?

I still was suspicious of the tunnel itself, but obviously there wasn’t a direct secret passageway that I could see and I was wasting time.I drove around for a while (at least two people thought I was on still on-duty) and one police officer told me to move.You’d think being so high-class they’d give some better fuckin directions.Geez people.

At long last, I noticed a thin street I didn’t know existed.My gut instincts led me down it.It was mostly either empty buildings or those _occupied_ by companies _owned_ by the rich.This had to be it; there was no trash here.There were some nice restaurants and hotels, and it seemed to welcome tourists.

As slow as slow can be, I drove past each building.Sometimes this city was like a maze.Lucky I was always good at mazes and puzzles—but even Mr. Krinkle can miss things.

Look who it is!

The right edge of my mouth curled into a low smirk.“Heh heh.”

I stopped in front of the shop.In squiggly lettering it was named “Cake Masters” and had a little red spiral logo on the glass door.I now saw that the spiral was supposed to indicate icing, and the red dot in the middle the cherry on top….from what I could tell.

I parked and got out the camera, turning it on.

When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a billboard on the left wall with menus and detailing all of the events and concerts they have catered to, as well as a sign that said “Poker Night every Thursday” and showed a hand dealing a card with hearts.I knew I was close.

I walked up to the counter, where you could already smell fresh cakes and some little ones were displayed in the glass case below.I thought the place could be cleaner, to be honest.

A woman with an apron and her hair pulled back saw me and greeted me.“Hi there! What can I do for you tod-“ she saw my camera, and paused before asking, “…and uh…and what would that be for?”

I explained to her that the camera was for a documentary I was taking part in, about the dessert industry in major cities.She looked very skeptical but managed to accept it.After all, I technically was not doing anything against the law because I informed her that I was filming.

I told her I wasn’t going to order anything since I’m off the drug called sugar as of right now.But I did ask her some “interview” questions.She tried to primp herself when I directed the camera at her.

“First things first: do you like your job?”

“It’s a living.”

“How do you feel about cakes?”

“Oh, I love cakes! I used to help my grammy bake them when I was tiny.I didn’t know that I would actually be in this busin-“

“I see, yes.Do you eat a lot of cakes yourself?”

“Sometimes.I gotta watch my figure, though.”

“What was your favorite event to cater to?”

“Ooh, that’s tough.Umm….maybe Senator Palantine’s last fundraiser.”

“Palantine?”

“Yes sir, Charles Palantine. He lost the primary to Carter just a few days ago…such a pity…he would’ve been great for this country…”

“You support him?”

“Yes sir.Do you?”

“Why yes ma’am I do.Who’s your boss?”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Henry Krinkle, part of a small-time film industry.Now, who’s your boss?”

“Well Mr. Krinkle, I have some customers you’re holding up.”

“Why can’t you answer that?”

“Now sir, I just said-“

I clicked off the camera and said, “Actually, it doesn’t matter anymore.I got what I need, thank you Miss.Sorry for stalling you.You’re over here trying to work and I’m just distracting you…”

“No, you’re fine.But we are busy at the moment, you know what I mean, jellybean?” She smiled sweetly and then took the order of the person in line.

After that, I slunk up to her again, saying, “Mm, one last thing.My apologies but I just _really_ care about cakes!”

“Yes?” Her eyes hovered over me in growing suspicion.

I leaned over to her and said in a low voice, “Cakes are great aren’t they? They can be compliant, they can be controlled.You can eat cakes…you can beat them and rape them.So tell me miss, how do you like your cake?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“How do you like your cake? Do you like them begging for their friends, fathers…mothers?”

“What the _hell_ kind of questions are those? Sir, I think you need to leave.”She grabbed a telephone as if warning that she would call someone.

“Do you know a girl named Iris, or maybe you know her as Easy? She’s a friend of mine.”I was trying to get any information about underage prostitutes out of her.I had this lingering suspicion like maybe this Holland Cult had something to do with Iris, so that was why I saw this particular company’s truck when I met with her that day, when Sport made fun of me.

She put her hand on her hip and clicked her tongue.“No, I don’t.Order a cake and get out of here.”

“Sheesh, you’re awful touchy to someone just asking simple, innocent questions.”The more upset someone gets the more I know they have something to hide.

“Are you a cop?” She asked.

“No, I told you I’m a filmmaker.”

“You said you were _helping_ with a film.”

“W-.…that’s right, I’m helping.”

I held up the pamphlet.“It’s your company’s design.”

“Well I’ve never seen it in my life, sir.” She loudly whispered, “Fucking crackheads, ugh….Yes ma’am, I can take you over here…”

“Thanks for your time."

I turned around before she could say anything else, and the camera was back on.

After stepping out of the building I peered into the window one more time.I began filming it. 

It was a little boy celebrating his birthday there, where the girl behind the counter had given him a pre-made cake with candles.It had a GI Joe theme.His parents stood behind him, clapping and laughing.The mother scolded the father about something, and he brushed her off.Then she noticed me.

She covered her child’s face.“Pervert!” She mouthed from behind the glass.I ran off before I got myself arrested in the process, before everything even started.

In my car I took out the duffel bag and placed the camera back in it, and took the recorder out.I put on sunglasses and a long blonde wig.I walked over to a man cleaning the street, starting the recorder.

“Afternoon, my man.If you don’t mind, can you tell me a bit about this street, or if you’ve ever heard of a Loch Ness Inn?”

“No I never heard of dat.But this street is a mighty fine one.Many rich persons come through here.”

I changed again, now in a coat with a scarf and hat covering much of my face.

I was now in the laundromat, asking the older Chinese lady, “Have you ever seen this pamphlet before? It tells me to go to a Loch Ness Inn.Ring a bell?”

“Over there,” she pointed to the right side of the street, down where an alley was.

“Uh, where?”

“There,” she pointed again.

I sighed.“Jesus Christ.I’m goin back home, this is ridiculous.”

She looked at me, and I looked back at her.“Sorry.I’ll find it.”

No one apparently knew an Iris.

“I walk in grace,” I whispered to myself as I placed everything back into the bag and was now “Me” again.I would not be able to carry the equipment into the hotel.After another thought of leaving, I mentally whipped myself and closed the door.

I wandered around the street, probably comin off like a nutcase to passers-by.

I began to turn around, and around again, the buildings taunting my dizziness as I tried to look where the Chinese woman indicated.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my arm to stop me.

“Whoa, buddy! Relax.You’re right where you need to be.”

It was a man in a suit and combed blonde hair, with a charming smile.He gripped my arm again.“Nice strapping young man, aren’t you…quite a body…”

I took his hand off.“And who might you be?”

“You can call me Raynard.Follow me, and I’ll take you to the inn.”

So I followed him further into the fancy buildings.This is the type of place I imagined high-class Manhattan-ites made their ways, shared their art, or shared their culture.This is some place I had imagined Betsy to be a part of.

Sure enough, we stopped at a building called “Loch Ness Inn” in cursive writing, with a delicate engraving of ocean waves.The lobby was both old yet polished, with Scottish tartan and gold colors.Raynard stopped me, and whistled to a few other men.They began patting me down all over.

Raynard then said, “Go on, make yourself at home.Check in, if you’d like.Get a snack, whatever.Just…like I said…relax.We should be starting the conference innnn…” (he checked his gold watch, same that the old man in my cab had) “…twenty minutes, give or take.”

I went up to the check-in counter and tried to see if I could get a room from the man there.

“Hello.”

His head was still down.

“I said hello.”

“Good evening.Are you looking to check in?”

“Yeah, hey.Yeah, I wanted to check-in, if it’s affordable.I’m part of this conference, er, whatever goin on.So I’m, ya know, pretty important and whatnot.”

When I asked for a second-floor room, he checked a notebook and told me, pen pointing, “We do have a vacancy for two people—so you could easily fit in if it’s in your price range, and you enjoy the view of the shopping centers.”

“Okay.Ya know I just—I don’t usually go to hotels because I don’t want bed bugs but, that sounds about fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Travis Bickel—B-I-C-K-E-L.”

“Mhm.” He was speed-writing and checking with a pen through the notepad.Meanwhile it takes me hours sometimes just to write these entries.

Suddenly I realized what I said, “Oh shit, I’m sorry.I meant to say Bickle: B-I-C-K-L-E.”

“You misspelled your own name!” The clerk joked.I scratched under my armpit and did not smile.I didn’t like the joke.

“Do you care for any special packages…swimming, hot tubs, food delivery, tennis, massages…the like?” Everyone here seemed like they were on ecstasy.

“Massages? Well I mean, unless it’s done by an attractive Asian woman…yeah, no.I don’t care for pools or hot tubs.I’m not swimming where everyone else has swam.I can get my own food and I don’t need tennis either.”This place was more luxurious than I thought.

“What will it all be then, Mr. Bickle?”

“None.None of em, actually.”

“Oh so you don’t want any of these packages?” He started crossing out words.

“Yeah, I sorta just said that and all.”

“Well sir, I want to make sure you’re comfy here.You said you’re here for the conference, right?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oop! Look, there you are, right there! It looks like you’re already paid for.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” He handed me a key.“We hope to see you again soon!”

“You’d be so lucky.” I don’t know why I was so awkward with my replies today.

He grinned with these big eyes.“Watch that cockiness, Mr. Bickle.”

“Thanks for helping me out.Not to sound like an ass, but…how bout you watch yourself first.”

His grin remained as I sat down in a chair, checking my watch for the time.My eyes wandered to the chandelier, which twinkled and swayed.If I had a pistol and shot it at the right spot, it may fall over those who might sit at the grand table.I hoped this building could withstand an earthquake or flooding.

*Tinkle, tinkle* went the shiny chandelier.

The lights just barely faded.I stood up straight, prepared.

There was a fallen hush, and I wondered if all the lights would go off.I was used to utilizing night-vision from the war and cab-driving.I heard the shuffling of feet.

All the guests had left the lobby, except for me and Raynard.The front doors were locked, but I still thought the security was lacking.He walked over to the door, and a whole group of new guests walked it, many of them already talking and laughing with each other.I craned my neck to see them.

For a good long while I watched them interact, some of them looked normal, others looked wealthier.A few looked like pimps.Waiters came out with food and a jukebox played music.

The music ranged from old jazz to classical, and at times current hits.I recognized the one where the guys were singing “Oh what a night!” And it was about 1963 or some shit.I wanted to identify and know about more songs; music in general, really.

Soon I was in this sea of motion, and being greeted.

Raynard stood up to speak, and clinked a glass: “Attention, attention, everyone! It is AWESOME with a capital A to see all you good ladies and good gentlemen once again!As you know my name is Raynard,” he bowed and smiled.The people clapped and yelled, “Welcome back, brother!”

“Thank you, thank you.This is the 30th conference for our union, and wow, what a year it’s been for us!” Everyone clapped again.They all wore windmill pins with the Dutch flag colors.

He went to explain their union for “newcomers,” which included how they provided benefits and a “sense of purpose” for the lost and alone: retired or blue-collar workers, dignified members of society, and veterans alike.They were battling the culture, he said, and were a safe haven for all the individualists who wished to make a difference, find their place, and “relax.”He said they contributed to donations and charities, as well as various political candidates.Why had I never heard of them?

That’s when—at the corner of my burning eye (I must have been allergic to something in the building)—I spotted a really familiar figure selling products to anyone he could find.

_Easy Andy?_

No way—no fuckin way!

“I swear, this is a chip made for only the top-notch computers; the way of the future, I’m tellin’ ya.Forget about TVs.This baby is worth more than liquid gold…you’ll thank me later.”

He repeated the same lines but with a different wording each time.Still a salesman.

When he came over to me I tried to hide my face with my hand but he saw me, dammit.

“Is that…is that who I think it is? Travis!”

“…yeah.”

I asked what on earth he was doing here and he said he was “invited” like I was.

Easy Andy patted my shoulder: “Long time, no see, old customer old friend! From the papers I saw those gorgeous hotrods shot well for ya! Crazy, man, what you did, and I’ve been among the worst of the worst, eh.”

“I know what you mean, Andy.They did indeed.I haven’t killed an elephant yet with that .44 Magnum, or hammer nails with that .38 Snub-Nose, though.Somehow I get the feeling it wouldn’t work as well.”

He rubbed his neck and shrugged.If I could read minds, I would say he was wondering how I could even remember that whole conversation.“Hey! See this here? This is a piece of Errol Flynn’s bathtub.” 

What the—that’s what Doughboy tried to sell me that night in the diner! The fizz…

“I…” He continued, but stopped when I walked towards him….

And kept walking…

And kept on walking…

I charged him into a corner like a rhinoceros as he yelped, “Hey, whoa…whoa, whoa, whoa!!”

“Easy, fella!”

I cornered him.“Where did you find that Andy? _Tell me_.”

“I didn’t find it fuckhead it was given to me!”

“By who??”

“Who the fuck does it matter who? I got it, and it’s probably a rip-off anyway.I can tell these things.”

“Come on, Andy.By who?”

“I don’t remember his name, alright.He was a white guy, said he didn’t need it no more.Don’t question me and my business, Travis. I know people.”He pointed his finger in my face to warn me.“It’s cause of me you’re the damn hero of this place anyway.I protected ya from the law.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get back to that business.”He then shoved me away.

I stood there in silence and confusion.Doughboy wasn’t a part of this, was he? Surely other people had other parts of the supposed bathtub.

My troubles were interrupted—

—For the sake of only more trouble.

Raynard had pulled me aside.“It’s showtime, Mr. Bickle.”

I was too paralyzed to speak.He went on, “Now, I know you’re the quiet type, but try not to be so shy.”He put his arm around me and tugged my chin in this weirdly friendly way.

He led me to the set-up small stage of the room, where the din quieted as each person stared at me and clapped when I walked by, beaming.

I felt like I was in some kind of corny self-help seminar, but damn I’d be lying to you all if I said it didn’t feel _good._

I walked up to the podium, unsure of what to do.Raynard took a microphone and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the man of the hour, Mr. Travis Bickle!” Applause. 

“He’s a man who stood up for the helpless, who made the city a little safer, who’s helped some of us be able to sleep at night, and a man alone who found his purpose.We honor him tonight just like we honor every man who has fallen in pursuit of justice, at home and abroad.We honor him as we honor the individual who makes individual choices.We honor him as the rebel in the face of our corrupt system that harms so many in this state.We honor him as a friend of our society.Welcome, Travis.Why don’t you tell us about your individualism and spiritual journey thus far?”

I scratched my head and I couldn’t meet their eyes.I felt like an earthworm writhing on the hot sidewalk.

“Y-Well, to be honest, I don’t even know what I’m doing here, first of all,” I laughed.The audience laughed along with me for some reason. 

“But uh, I’m glad to hear you’ve heard of me and have so much love for me.Seriously, wow.I’m uh…I’m not good with um, words or articulating…but thanks so much.

I don’t really support unions, typically, but I think I do support anything that helps lift people’s spirits in these dark times.I feel like I’m accepting an award that I had no idea about nor do I deserve.Again, I appreciate the thanks.I just…”

The lights were making me hot.

“I really have no idea what you do or why I need all this praise.There’s a lot I could tell you about my ‘journey’ but you’d be exhausted by it, I’m sure.What else is there to say except I was another roaming soul in this hell-city? I made my decisions, and I guess I’m proud of them.”

There was then another applause.

I forgot what I was even saying or where I was going with this.

“…um, morbid self-attention, is something we should avoid…” I no longer had an outline of what to say so I just started pulling my old lines outta my ass.

“Geez, it’s hot in here.Are you guys hot?”

They were starting to appear less in awe of me.

I was just stuttering by this point.Raynard was trying to goad me to go on.

Finally, I found my voice:“But mostly—I want to say—starve the bad thoughts with the fires of determination and everything becomes possible.I was in a bad place and I had to gain control over my urges.So I harnessed that control and transformed it into a tool to usher into the world. I don’t care about stupid little things: I need meat.And lastly, I want to thank Iris Steesnma for showing me the light.”

Everyone’s face was twisted.

“Iris, that’s right.Iris.”

Raynard then talked again in the microphone.“Wow, alright, thank you Travis for that.Very inspirational! Anything else to comment?”

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

“Uh, go down the left hallway and turn to your right.”

“Thanks man.”

I walked off, turning my back to the flah-bbergasted cultists.

The hallway was decorated with paintings, mostly modern, and mostly ugly.They tended to have rectangular shapes.One poster was a photograph of what I believe is the Loch Ness Monster, the famous one recently taken and probably a hoax.

Every time I walked passed a door I would hear faint whisperings.I walked passed men who might be mafiosos or pimps, with the faces of killers.I walked passed maids and political activists.

I finally found the bathroom and it was this tiny room with tall, narrow green walls.I looked up, and saw a painting on the wall of a naked man with yellow eyes holding a pyramid inside a square and women and children beneath him.The toilet was one of those old types where you have to pull to flush.

I left the bathroom without doing anything.The green lights were low and stung my eyes and the painting disturbed me.

I walked some more until I found another bathroom.This one was larger and more public, with bronze coloring and marble floors.Some businessmen were at the urinals, talking.I stepped over to a urinal next to one of them…and well, ya know, the natural thing.I said I had nerves.

The old suit-wearing man next to me smiled.I noticed he was the same man who gave me the pamphlet in the car.His gaze then moved right down to my hands…and what I was holding in them.

He smiled again, and then said to me: “Nice watch.”

I washed my hands and got out of there so fast I slammed the door going out.

The hell?

Back in the lobby, I sat down in time for dinner.I wasn’t hungry for food, but I was for information.

I was given a glass of champagne, as was everyone else, but it ain’t peach brandy I can tell you that.The plates and spoons and forks seemed so high-class.Then again I was used to old, cracked plates or rusty pots in the sink.

A cook came out, and opened this cage.Out walked three chickens—they appeared to be drugged.He grabbed each by their necks and when they tried to wobble away he broke their necks.As they were cut into, blood and feathers leaked onto the table, and the blood was poured into a bowl and taken away.

Everyone clapped and cheered.I didn’t feel very good. 

Raynard clunk his glass and spoke again: “Aw, that was beautiful.Just beautiful.It’s amazing to be here with all of you, people who want to make a difference.That’s beautiful too.But let’s not forget to be thankful for getting where we are…and for he who put us here.How refreshing to finally be someplace where rules, morals, standards do not matter anymore.Only what you and you alone believe matters in the context of your community.Of course…we must not tell anyone of it, right?”

“Right!” Some shouted.

“And this is _our_ community, correct?”

“Right!”

“We love each other, don’t we?”

“Right, right!”

“Then let us dine with love and individual purpose!”

“Hear, hear!”

When they tried to serve me I refused.I wasn’t eating jack-shit.I was getting this weird cannibal-tribe vibe from them.Like Catholics do in communion but even worse.

Some of the people tried to talk to me, usually starting off with congratulations and then questions.Some of them asked about my job.I tried to explain things while also leaving things out.I wasn’t much in a mind to talk but their odd eyes egged me on.

Raynard talked to me as well: “Travis, you’re not eating anything.How can you take part if you don’t eat? I bet you want to at least try a dessert from Cake Masters-“

“I’m not hungry.”

“Whatever you say.”He slyly glanced to someone.Some of the guests dispersed to go talk to each other in other parts of the hotel.

He turned to me again.“Travis, I have some people who would love to meet you.”

I nodded.He ushered them over.It was three women (I was noticing a pattern of 3’s here): one brunette, one blonde, and one redhead.They had to be models with how shapely and attractive they were.They were excited to see me.

“Oh wow…it is you!” The brunette gushed.She hugged me without warning.“I love you so much, you don’t even know.”

“Ah.” I said, “Yeah I don’t know.And you don’t know me, frankly.”

She rubbed my shoulder.“I could…though.”

“Uh…”

The blonde’s red nail ran down my collar bone.“Wow, you’re even more handsome in person.” She squeezed my arm.“So muscular.”

“Hey, every muscle has to be tight.If you know what I mean…” I winked and they giggled.It wasn’t even that funny.

The redhead now stood before me: “Well, that may be, but I’d rather hear all about what makes Travis, Travis.I swear if I had you to myself, you wouldn’t have to worry about being so lonely and frustrated all the time, trust me.”

“Poor widdle Twavis,” said the brunette.

I eyed the redhead.“How would you even know about that?”

She froze for a minute, and then responded: “Sometimes you can just tell by a person.”

They were all over me and I felt like a boy getting his first lap dance or a nerd who had never been around women before.My cheeks were burning.It no way, shape, or form was I used to _this_ amount of attention.

Then an older woman came out, short silver hair.She had to be in her 70s and she shooed the other girls away.She said, “Oh stop it, you little floozies! He needs an experienced woman.”

“Actually, ladies,” I said trying to push them all out of the way, “I appreciate it but I’m used to being alone…and I uh…I quite like it.”

“Oh come on!” Moaned the blonde, “don’t be such a prude!”

It came to me with delayed realization what they might be.Even the older woman seemed to have some command over the younger ones more like a madam than a mother or grandmother.They failed in trying to give me a raging-boner or whatever they meant to do.

Raynard came up to us all, saying, “Sorry about that Mr. Bickle, our ladies here can get a little _frisky_ sometimes.You’re one good-looking new recruit!”

A man ran over and called to the redhead: “Sophia!”

She rolled her eyes.

“God.What, Brad?!”

“We need you.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

She excused herself, and smiled like a vixen to me as she walked away.

“Actually ladies, I’m going to need to go off myself, just Travis and I,” Raynard exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

They pouted but allowed us to go.I was relieved, man.

We stepped out into another hallway, this one more resembling a tunnel.We passed by a few storage closets, and two people having sex on the wall.Raynard walked by like this was routine was for him.I understood, because I’ve seen pairs doing it or trying to in my taxi, but this was a strange place to do it nonetheless.There were literally rooms right there, guys.

He led me down the corridors into a staff room.

Seeing my face, he laughed and said: “Cheer up, Travis.”

“Are you absolutely sure you have no listening or video devices on you, anywhere?” He asked me.

“Swear it on high.”

“Excellent.I hope I can trust you, Travis, I do.”The room had a lot of weird or modern paintings.I guess they jerk it over art here.One was just of a rabbit.

The room was grey and filled with grey chairs, like a meeting room. There was the low rumbling of what sounded like the subway close by, but we were not underground.It caused a returning feeling of safety in me for that one brief moment, the taste of the scummy world that was actually dirt—not dirt dressed up in lace, linen, and a twisted conscience.

There were lockers, one lined with rows and rows of files. 

“This is the motherboard.Information of every event, every disaster, every birth, death, and speech that’s happened to us.Information on every person of this board…perhaps every person in this city.” He smiled, but I didn’t know if he was serious or not.

“Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.”

So I scanned the rows, looking through files.This seemed like something you’d see at NSA headquarters, much less a New York City hotel.He was right: there was information on every single person that must have been a part of this shady group.There were literal pages right down to each individual’s personality, looks, hopes, dreams, goals, and “spiritual journeys.”There were predictions of new births, literally and metaphorically, as well as predictions of deaths, literally and metaphorically.There was even a person who claimed to have experienced government brainwashing! All the papers were labeled “Holland Society.”

I pulled up a stray chair and moved over to the one Raynard was now sitting in.I asked, “What does this Holland thing mean?”

He crossed his legs and folded his hands:“When New York was in the hands of the Dutch in the 17th century, they called it New Netherland and formed a colony here in Manhattan: New Amsterdam.We believe the oppressive philosophies of the Anglican, monarchist English had tainted New York, and we strive to follow the Dutch example instead.Holland isn’t just a place, it’s a philosophy, and a set of rules.I know it’s funny and cliche to say, but you might even call it a state of mind.”

The English brought order, I thought.The English brought the Founding Fathers and roots for the Bill of Rights and independence, I thought.But I let him continue.

“The thing about the files in this room….you always know exactly who you’re dealing with.There’s none of the ifs, ands, or buts you see in the flock of sheep you live with.It’s best to know exactly how to assess, program, and deprogram those in debt to your will.You know, many aristocratic families have legacies that have been going on since the Middle Ages or even before.They keep themselves within family lines and family values.I think there’s some valor to be found in that, don’t you think?And, by offering predictions, you can condition your own flock to a better livelihood.’”

“So are you the spokesperson for these families?” I asked as I now saw the grand painting behind him, of an old family member in the early 1800s, I guess.I gulped.

He chuckled.“I’m a hatchet man, more like.It’s interesting what you can do with mental conditioning.You can ensure your children turn out the way you’d like them to.”

“You would brainwash children?”

“Brainwash? No.Introduce to a better life? Of course.Wouldn’t you?”

It brought to mind my own traumas, and how much the symbols like I had seen in the pamphlet were all over.And they _do_ always seem to associate hearts with little girls…oh fuck, man.I felt sick.Wait, the pamphlet!

I explained it to him.“Why exactly are there pictures of poor or naked human beings? Even toddlers? Can you answer me that, Ray? Why was there _human hair_ in it??”My voice was low now.

He thought for a moment, and then answered, “Well…I wouldn’t be upset, first of all.We knew what would grab your attention, like vulnerable people in vulnerable positions.Thus, photographs and symbols.We’ve known who you are since the cake truck spotted you on a street nearby last year.The hair…hmm…I can’t explain the hair.Let me see that, if you will? Thank you.”

He looked at the page I was talking about and raised his eyebrows.I just stuttered, “You…you guys were w-watching me?”I had seen that truck drive by before I got out to talk to Iris.I didn’t think much about it but I did remember it.

“I’m afraid I can’t explain the hair, but I may know who it came from.”

Before I could even ask he snapped his fingers and 3 people came in.One was a black man named D.B., one was another rich businessman named Brad, and the third was the red-haired woman, Sophia.Raynard introduced them, and they all were respectful to me.D.B. was in connection to the police and high-profile law organizations, Ackley was an investor in the area with connections to the Federal Reserve, while Sophia claimed to have known all of the five Sicilian mob families in power in New York.

Raynard said: “You’ve told us how you came to us, but why? Why would you want to stay here, possibly even join our group?” The others nodded and waited for what I had to say.

“I think I want to make a difference again…a real difference.Maybe without so much bloodshed this time.If I really did join, I would need you to tell me what more of this is all about..including the hair.” I played along, perhaps with a slight feeling of wanting to belong here even with my sick stomach.

“At least you’re honest, Travis, I like that.Tell you what, we will show you the ways, and we’re gonna help you make a difference again.You can count on it.We’ll help you find, well, find your real talent and calling.You’ll be brand spankin’ new by the end of this course.” Raynard made me feel a sleeper cell agent to a new friend within minutes.

“So now that you know our top members, we can all come around the campfire and sing our songs for tonight.Lately we’ve been discussing the meaning of a good society, or a ‘City Upon the Hill’ as the Puritans would say.”

“Trust me Travis, I wouldn’t worry.This is a safe spot, with safe people.We’re only trying to make the world a better place, just like you are!” Brad sighed.

Raynard spoke: “I really do admire you, we all do.How can we not?You’re the epitome of our vision: one man, with a will of iron and a heart of gold.So I would take tonight as something special, and I would take the time to revisit us when you can.When someone plots in their favor, we call that a _conspiracy_ , Travis.All we need is one person to trigger the cure.”

“I almost thought you were a cult.” I said, avoiding the chicken matter.

“Ha! I could see that.Secret societies are everywhere, it seems.Some people say it’s the government or bankers, or doctors, or a church, or the Freemasons, or white supremacists, or the Jews….or even people in their own community who work against them for their own materialistic reasons.Someone has their own society they see as the enemy, the thing in control in need of defeat.Interestingly enough, all of these little groups are just mirrors of the bigger ones.Cults, as you pointed out, are copies of the ultimate groups.Sex cults, health cults, and all.Hell, even Scientology is just a splinter.Did you know L. Ron Hubbard was friends with Jack Parsons?”

“Science-sci-scientology? The fuck is that?”

“Something in California,” Sophia said with a wink.

“Hollywood’s in California too.” I said.Kind of obvious, Travis.

“Yes sir.Hollywood is quite a cult itself, with all its abuses and its rites…we really should investigate more,” D.B. said.

Eventually all four were playfully teasing or debating each other, each with a different viewpoint.Raynard was the clear superstitious leader, Sophia was flirty and fiery, D.B. seemed to like physical pain, andBrad was manipulative but witty.

“California…” I repeated vaguely.

I decided to ask, since what he said reminded me of it: “I’ve been thinking, thinking a lot lately, about potential dangers to this city.I never really liked it here, but it’s been becomin more apparent to me these days how easy it would be for something to happen, like you said.Would you happen to know about any secret plots, or accurate predictions of crud like nuclear weapons, assassinations, race wars, diseases, or…or the like?”

Brad laughed.“You ask the best questions, ho-ly shit.Paranoid much?”

“I think I ask good questions, that deserve answers.”

“You almost kind of remind me of Matthew….quite a man, quite a man.” D.B rambled.

Matthew…wasn’t that Sport’s real name? Not that I know, but…

That anger was simmering even stronger now.I wondered if he could hear it, like one hears a pot boiling.

Something had interrupted my feelings.Raynard pulled down his collar to scratch his neck.I now saw a tattoo on his exposed neck bone.

It was a horse’s head.That was the name of the gang that beat me as a teenager—The Horses.Raynard _did_ kind of remind me of someone.Anger was now touched by the faint fingers of nostalgia.

“Chicken.” I then blurted.

“Chickennnn….what?” Raynard asked.

“Sport called Iris a little piece of chicken.Sport, the guy you just talked about.”

“No, I don’t believe we were, but who doesn’t like chicken…”

Oh. I see.

I leaned back and crossed my legs, scraping something off the heel of my shoe.

A memory returned: I was now in the breakfast diner with Iris again.I had told her what Sport said about her, and she didn’t believe me.Scum. SCUM.

She laughed.It played in my head and I closed and opened my eyes until I was back with Raynard.“A little piece of chicken” was reverberated in my head in the voices of Raynard, Iris, and Sport combined.Maybe I should not have thrown all those meds out.Maybe I needed them.

Ronnie’s voice I heard too.

Ronnie, ahem, sorry, I mean Raynard got up.I shook hands with the others and then he led me to the elevator.It took us to the first floor.

Once we stood in front of a door, he said: “Here’s Sarala.She’s the one who may have had the hair ripped from her.She’s a little shy and not all there, just a warning.”

Sarala was definitely a foreign name.But the woman’s hair I had found was from a dead woman.I mean…she had to be dead.

I was too afraid to go in.To see the ghost.“No, you go,” I suggested.“I want you to ask her which person it was that hurt her.I want the exact name.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do it.”

He nodded, and stepped in.“Hey, Sarala.Do you have some time to talk?” He was in there so long, I started to back away…

Until Raynard stepped back out.He handed me a crumpled piece of paper.

“It took eons, but I finally got her to write it down.She’s a nut, that one.”

I opened the paper.In messy, tired writing it barely spelled the name: TRAVIS.

I swallowed.I was silent for a while until telling Raynard that I have to go.

“Mr. Bickle, I hope we’ll get to see you for every meeting…”

“No…listen to me. _I_ have to go.”I emphasized “I.”

He understood.

I strode into the lobby and mentioned the pool and massage to the man at the desk.

“Do I know you?” He asked.“Are you looking to check in?”

“We met earlier,” I reminded him.

He shook his head.“No, no I don’t think so.What’s your name?”

“Never mind.”I walked out of that fucking inn.I felt like I was having, ah dammit, what’s it called.Deja vu. 

Stepping out, I had to stop for a limo.It had a few cars alongside it that may have been security.The limo seemed to pass by in slow-motion, but I couldn’t see for shit who was in it.

What if it had been Palantine? I still remember the night he came into my cab—he was freaked the fuck out and I dropped him off at a fancy hotel much like this one.He didn’t live here, so if it was him, he had to be visiting.Didn’t that lady say he lost the race?

Some women with fur coats and beads walked by.Wealthier hookers?

Palantine.The inn.Prostitutes.It formed the theory in my brain, and I felt sick again.

Dear God, should I have finished the job with the senator?

At the same time…I wanted to be a part of the group too.I wanted help.

Even in the dark I found my car, with everything intact.All in all, I had gotten what I needed for the day and I tried my best to feel satisfied, not disturbed.But that’s a tricky game to play.I parked my car in a parking garage and pondered on everything.Then I tried to rest my eyes—things went dark.

By the time the sun came up I had felt enough energy to drive over to Cake Masters and play some cards outside with a few people.I gave in and had an apple cinnamon donut, which was, I’m afraid to say, tasty.After the game the guy next to me balked at me like I was some kind of science experiment and finally said, “Hey, you’re _that guy_!”

My first smile in a while came to my face. “Yep, I’m _that guy_.”Then I made introductions and shook hands like I was a senator myself.Even after all that happened the night before, I couldn’t help but feel this sense of pride that followed right after my anger.I can’t explain why, but the feeling just barged in on me.

Back in my car, I took out a box from the bag and reassessed my stapled papers from it.You see, these people don’t know that I have my own weapon(s), so to speak. 

I wrote down more details in the papers, but my mind went blank on me and I sighed in frustration.I rubbed my mouth.Inspiration is hard.

I flipped through them and put a personal blessing on them with my thoughts.I’d probably have to edit or redo some parts before publishing.

It was basically a special present for my friends…including those I just made.

The mask of a taxi driver came back on my face as I left and prepared for another day of work.I turned on the radio and listened to the song that was already on, which was California Dreamin, as I drove into the morning sun.

Of course I can keep a secret.Who would I tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to "Mr. Krinkle" by Primus while writing this.


	16. Chapter 16

1979

I offer no confessions except confessions I know.

I confess that I am not right.By this I mean I am not right like others, who were born with souls.

I don’t think I was made fully…not, not made fully human.My soul can hardly be found.

They claim I have done things and said things.Some of these claims are true, others are not.I know what I saw and heard, and will not be told that I have made it up or orches-straited [orchestrated] anything if I did not.I know I am not right in my head.I confess to it.

I know and I confess to negahitve [negative] actions.I guess it was mostly my fault. 

I know and I confess to being washed.But I had to clean, you see.

It was all dirty again.The toilet had to be flushed again.

Let it be known that I am very likely to be dead if you are reading this and it would be by murder.It was not a suiside [suicide].

I see problems, and I solve them.The problem was not with me, but it was of me.I solved the problems that came into my path. 

I confess to [word cannot be made out here = blood smudge].All of them.In some ways I am proud of it, and I am thankful for your love.

Thank you.

I liked the TV show The Twilight Zone in my youth.I believe I stepped out from a place like that—where reality is bendable and mysteri-ous.Only those who share traits with me will understand.

There are monsters and there are men.

Simply with a gun I changed many men and women alike, because every action has a reaction.I have racked my brain in how I feel about the reactions I have brought out.It haunts me but I understand it, and understanding helps me.

I would like to attach the opening to the book The Exorcist in order to help my point, but I don’t have the room.

To my will:

THIS IS THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF: _Travis L. Bickle._

I declare this as my last will and will go as follows:

I give my radios and my television to my cousin Oliver Rutte.

I give my bed to my cousin Henson Rutte.

I ask to be buried behind Bluejay Park and Forest in South Dakota.I ask to be given a very small tombstone or plack [plaque] with no decorations.

I have no Personal Representative at the moment.

I give my mahogany desk to my aunt, Celia Furness Rutte.

I give my cab to Lyle Dorman and pray that he takes care of it and puts it on display if it happens to be that way.

I give my pencils, money box, chapstick, and abacus to Christina Valdez and Charles Terence Tiller.

I give my soaps to Felicity Moffett and workout equipment to Grant Hemming.

I give my records to Melio Iglesias.

I give my other tools to Adam Giordano.I ask he uses them well.

I give my posters back to a Betsy.Please tell her, again, that I am sorry.

I give my pots, pans, and stove oven to Ralph Zadeh and his new baby and Ranbir Atri and his children.

I give my pistols, rifles, and revolvers to a personal collection.

Finally, I give this journal to that same collection and trust that it will be contained and never opened.

There is no family to honor other than my father and mother.

I confess to the clean-up.

In dedication to [another unreadable smudge]

-T. Bickle


	17. A Road Trip

The ball nearly hit Adam in the head when he threw it on the wall and it bounced back to him.Gravity was a cruel mistress.He threw it again, and it bounced into his hand this time.Actually, gravity wasn’t that bad.

The best throw he had ever done was when he was 9 years old, and it was the last baseball game of the spring.Adam was so excited he couldn’t sleep; he practiced his throwing arm all night outside instead.Of course, his mother had no idea he did this, but it ended up working out for him because he aced the shot as pitcher in that important game of the year.Adam was more clumsy than a newborn fawn but he was a natural at baseball even at 9.

His aunt had come and he felt even more motivated to play to win—and to impress.It would be one of the most disappointing days he could remember.And it wasn’t because his team lost—they won—but it was surely for other reasons.

First off, Adam was hit in the head early on in the game and it caused his head to go fuzzy at the most pressing moments.Adam could feel the frustration radiating from his coach and his team back onto him—like the baseball thrown onto a flat surface.Everyone around him, those cheering and those booing, were like centers of gravity themselves.They were planets revolving around him and pushing him to turn. Second, Adam saw that his mother had gone to the bathroom for at least an hour, and finally came out by the second quarter.She missed a good bit of the game.What was she even doing?Third, despite feeling like he slowed down his team for the entire game, they still won, somehow.Adam was in disbelief: he could barely enjoy the rest of the excitement.He felt disappointment in himself, including why he couldn’t seem to celebrate with his teammates.He had enough energy to power Chicago and yet he couldn’t find even a sliver of happiness.Fourth, when he wanted a cherry slushy from the slushy man, the man told him they “only had grape.”Adam was dejected at that age but now he found it funny.“We only have grape” was a running inside joke between him and his friends.Fifth, the bad memories of holding the gun to the man on the floor and the criminals who had taunted and jeered at him were not far off.They never were.

When his mother drove him home, she noticed how quiet he was.“Something wrong, honey? You won! Be happy!”Because, apparently, happiness was merely a switch that could be turned on or off.Adam turned to her to ask, “Mom, how come Dad never showed up?”

She wriggled her chin.“Adam, you know why.His job is-“

“Very important, I know.But, but this one time, he coulda seen me?” Adam finished.

“Baby, I know.I know more than anyone how much it hurts when his work comes first.But it’s work he’s had passed down to him through family, you know this.Think of it this way, it’s because of him and what he does that you won today.”

“It is?”

“Better believe it.We have it good, little Adam Man.Don’t forget that.”

Adam was quiet until they got home.He also did not ask his mother why she was missing for a while herself.

Suddenly, she attacked him in a bear hug.“And don’t forget Mama loves you best, either!” She tickled and kissed him and he giggled.If she had done that in public he would’ve been embarrassed and tried to push her off.

Now he knew not to take a thing for granted, especially family.

Adam bounced the baseball straight onto the auto repair’s floor and it resettled into his hand.

Rufus and Jake had been debating and throwing leftover pieces of paper into the trash as a contest to amplify their debate.“Oh shut the hell up, you can’t say nothin’ ‘cause you don’t even run.” Rufus had gestured to Jake’s heavy frame.Adam thought it was mean, but…Jake _was_ a little chunky.

Three other workers were chewing gum or talking and Adam and Christina were play-punching each other.Adam refrained to say anything out loud about her unnecessarily hard hits.But Adam returned the favor—he landed a kick to her shins and she stopped to grab it.She had sensitive joints.

Suddenly, the owner and their boss charged into the garage throwing his cigarette with great fervor.He called out to his workers: “Guys, get over here!! I want you all to listen to me, so come on and gather around.”

The debating voices were still being heard so the boss yelled out, “QUIET, YOU DUMB BASTARDS!” The noise died down.

The owner pulled out one of the long work tables and everyone grabbed their rest chair to sit at it.The owner began: “Alright, listen, we’re gonna need to make some serious changes around here to keep in business.I want everyone’s attention right now because this is going to affect your livelihood, unless you want to transfer to Jeff’s Motors.”

Everyone groaned.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought.So, what I had in mind, is this: we’re gonna repaint, clean, and redecorate some of this place, to make it seem more welcoming.We’re also gonna work a hell of a lot harder, so no more playing with your dicks all day, mkay?”

He faced a worker chewing gum.“Hadley, stop it already with these sloppy oil changes.How many times are you going to spill that shit and we have yet another fire hazard on our hands?”Hadley rolled his eyes but agreed to do better.“Anyone willing to take the long shift for a while?”One of the workers tilted his cap to hide his face.

“Anyone?”

One worker said he would in his high-pitched voice that was immediately made fun of.

“Enough!” The owner scolded.“Let’s get these taxis we have lined up checked out for this whole week.”

Rufus suddenly pushed the table and jumped out of his chair.

“I don’t get paid enough for this bullcrap.Apparently none of us are going to be good enough for your standards, so why keep going on?I do the brunt of almost every repair, anyway.”

Jake objected, with his finger pointing.“Uhh, no.That would be me.”

“Lying fatass!” Rufus said.

The owner scratched his mustache and sighed.Rufus now attacked him: “No offense, butwhat do you even do?I think we get away with a lot.”Another worker nodded in agreement.

“If you don’t like me or what you have in this corner, then you can leave,” the owner told him.

“I will.”And so Rufus “quit” while shoving Jake one last time and trying (and failing) to rip off the name patch from his shirt.

“He’ll be back again.I guarantee it,” the owner bet.“Anyway, back to business.What about the files we still have to sort out?”

Jake said, “I worked like seven days straight on that kind of stuff, so…”

The owner sighed again.“I’ll deal with it.”Adam was now resting on his folded arms.

“Valdez, there’s been satisfied reports on your craftsmanship, so that’s good, but Christ Almighty, can you PLEASE be a little more lively and not come off like a literal plank of wood? Honestly, it puts customers off.Smile or raise your voice or _something_.”

Christina popped her shoulder, which made a loud cracking sound.“You can think whatever you want, but I am happy all the time,” she said in a monotone and with slow blinking eyes.

“Also, Giordano is your apprentice and I’d like to see you giving him more, you know, real teaching.”

“Speaking of which, Giordano,” he slammed his fist next to Adam to wake him up.“Stop fucking dropping things and goofing off, man.Come through with your projects in one day, not two, and show us you’re responsible and trustworthy even for your age.”

Adam nervously bit his nails with no answer, just a shrug and a nod.

“Well guys, the good news is that I ordered more equipment that I think you’re all gonna like…” the owner saw something out the window as he trailed off.It was a customer.

He came out to greet them, and saw that it was Travis, yet again.

Travis said hello and then marched into the garage without warning.He ignored the owner as he made a beeline to Adam and Christina.He waved to the other workers until he led his two new pals off to the waiting room.They tried to squirm away and he pulled them closer. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I happen to be going out of town and I need a companion to go with me.I’ll need both of you to do me a favor.A mission.”He offered them both a large amount of money in bribery.

He chose the person who would go with him to Pennsylvania.It seemed to be the right choice.

After that, Rufus returned and wanted his job back.He did one last paper shot with Jake, saying, “Anyone who wins this will get to do the least amount of fixing for this week.”

As he was about to throw the paper, Christina shot her own crumpled paper right into the trashcan first.She grabbed her jacket and walked off on her mission, telling the owner what was going on.Rufus and Jake stared at the trash for a moment.

Travis was still in this kind of stressed limbo state after the Loch Ness Inn event.His nerves were no better now that he felt obliged to set off to Pittsburgh to meet Iris’s family.He had debated whether or not to go for at least a few days, thinking maybe it was a trap by that same society or by the pimps who still had a grudge against him for slaying their friends in cold blood.It would be extremely awkward for him too.He would have to figure out where she lived and just…show up there? It was too weird.

Yet he couldn’t let her down either.If he can turn the city upside down for her, he could surely come and see her too.Travis made his decision, then. 

He found directions and her home phone number.Her mother had picked up, and affirmed that he could come and told him where to go.He wrote down the details.He practiced at the shooting range a bit, packed very little of what he had in an old small suitcase, and doubled the homemade locking system in his apartment.His journal was kept in the same space his other most prized possessions were.On this day of departure he checked the calendar for the date: November 24, 1976.

He was actually going to see Iris again.

Now he sat in the driver’s seat of his new car, and took one glance at his passenger before going back to the road.There was no way he was going on some germ-y, easy-to-crash airplane.Hijackings were frequent these days.The car took longer but he had control.

In the seat next to him sat his travel partner.Adam Giordano fidgeted in his seat.This was a very odd situation for him, and one he was kind of dreading.He agreed to it, but not without a great fuss put up by his mother.

“Absolutely not I’m letting you go to a whole other state with a stranger to meet more strangers! Have you lost your mind?”

“Ma, Travis isn’t a stranger.He lives in our complex, remember? Maybe this could be a learning experience for me…”

“You don’t even know these people!”

“Well, you always say I need to be more independent, right?”

Travis stepped in to help.He explained the deal to Mrs. Giordano, why he wanted her son, and who exactly Iris was.He told her Adam was safe with him—and that was far from a lie.After a hassle, he actually persuaded her to allow it.Adam was a bit impressed by how _charming_ the usually socially awkward weirdo Travis could be when he wanted to.

In the car, however, he began having second thoughts.Here he was, getting farther and farther away from home, and stuck in a car with Travis Bickle.Christina could be a little weird sometimes, but at least she didn’t outright _scare_ him.He wanted to say something to Travis and break the ice, but he didn’t know what.He wasn’t even sure if Travis wanted him to speak—he was still and stern.However, Adam had to come off as a grown man who made this decision himself.

Adam started, then stopped.He looked at a Rocky billboard out the window.He started again: “Did you see Rocky? That movie RULED. I saw it on Monday, the day after it came out.What a story, dude.Stallone is my new man.” He then started humming the catchy main theme and punched the air.

Travis was still closely watching the road.Adam could feel sweat collecting in everywhere sweat forms.His humming faded into silence.After a minute Travis finally said, “I did see it.I saw it yesterday.Great movie, indeed.It shows what happens when you have nothing else left but to fight.”

Travis really did like the movie and the character, who reminded him a bit of his own journey through trials, tribulations, and underestimations. Travis always enjoyed the hero’s journey in stories.The Rocky tune was now stuck in his head as well.

“Haven’t seen enough of Stallone yet to form an opinion.I’m a John Wayne guy,” he continued.The Searchers, now _that_ was a movie.

“Where did you get this car? Is it a Toyota Celica?” Asked Adam.

“Yes it is.I found it at a pretty fair car dealership; It was something of a birthday present for myself.Isn’t she one sexy little fox?”

“Oh yeah, but I think it might be a struggle to keep up with.That’s why I sorta prefer the Dodge Challenger.It’s simple, drives nicely, and looks cool.”

“I use what’s efficient, not cool.This Celica drives like a dream and isn’t a gas guzzler in our current gas crisis. Dodges are death traps and I’m not drivin one.Fuck people who like Dodge.”

Adam was hurt until Travis quickly said, “I mean, not you…just…people.”

They were both quiet again as they drove through the Northern countryside.The thick, dark green forests were beautiful, and the lakes sparkled.Adam saw some red squirrels, deer, and chipmunks.

Adam thought about what Travis had said about the birthday-present-to-himself thing, and spoke up again.

“I’d love a car for my birthday, since I’ll be turning 16 and everything.Not like there’s much use for cars in New York City, but it would still be pretty fucking sweet.”

Travis thought his birthday had already passed, since he remembered Adam saying his birthday was in “like, a month (his words)” in September, and he told him this.Adam acted like he had no memory of that whatsoever.He did tell Travis that, but he wanted it to seem like his birthday was a little earlier to not come off so young.It was actually pretty stupid, Adam thought.He could have just lied and said he was 22 or something if that was the case.

He also didn’t tell Travis that his real birthday was actually tomorrow, on Thanksgiving.He had not wanted to overshadow anything or anybody.He’d have more stuff to do when he returned home.His best friend Shawn was gonna hear all about this trip, he was sure.

Adam did complain about one thing, however: “Can’t we put on some music or something? It’s driving me nuts just sitting here.What about Parliament, or do you have any cassettes of Kool & the Gang live on Soul Train?”

“In your new car, you can listen to whatever you want.In my car, I need concentration.”Travis hated Soul Train but watched it frequently.

“You sound like Christina,” whined Adam.

“How is she doing, by the way?” Travis asked innocently.

“Uh, fine, I guess.She doesn’t share much about what she feels, but she’s been in a slightly better mood since…well, actually around that time you two had that spat.Heh, that’s funny.”Adam thought his actions had caused an avalanche, but apparently it was resolved…rather soon.

“Good, I’m glad she’s doing well.” Travis knew that Adam meant she was in a better mood since they had dinner together, but apparently she did not tell anyone else about it.That made Travis feel better too.

Adam looked at his driver quizzically.“Why are you asking about her?”

“Am I not supposed to?”

“No, but, I just figured you didn’t like her, that’s all.And you have good reason not to.” 

Travis raised his eyebrows and pursed his mouth as he looked out at the road.“Not to my knowledge,” he said.

The two did not talk after that, and Adam had to continue watching the sights.He tried to spot new types of birds as they cruised into Pennsylvania.Soon enough, his stomach growled.

“I’m getting hungry.”

Travis ignored him.

(ten minutes later)

“It’s past lunch time, isn’t it?”

Travis stopped at a light before answering: “Lewis and Clark and Company traveled through unimaginable conditions in the Northwest, I read it at the library.I think you can last till we get there.”

“Well I had breakfast, but…I’m feeling it.Did you have breakfast?”

“No, but-”

“Then why don’t we stop and get some grub? We should stretch our legs anyway.Good for the circulations,” Adam said in a funny lisp.

Travis halted to a stop as a truck had driven too close.He angrily honked his horn as Adam angrily flipped the driver off in unison.They both felt on edge whenever they saw a truck now, both consistently having the feeling of being followed, yet for different reasons.They seemed to sense each other’s shared tension like anxious dogs without saying a word.

Travis took a sharp turn down a highway.“If you really need to eat or take a piss, better tell me now while we’re near places.We’re getting pretty damn close to Pittsburgh.”

Adam wondered if it would end up just being a problem and he would slow down Travis.

“Tell me, man.”

“I uh, I-“

“Adam!”

“I do kinda have to pee too,” Adam said as lightly as possible.

“Do you want to do it in a cup?”

That was all it took.They were now at a gas station where Travis filled up and Adam ran to the restroom inside.It was always kind of skeevy, Adam thought, going into gas stations by yourself.He wouldn’t doubt if Travis was somehow armed.Maybe that was smart.

Adam avoided a man’s creepy stare as he walked out of the bathroom.The snacks looked tempting, but he wanted the Taco Bell next door.So he used some of Travis’s money to buy it. 

Travis put on his sunglasses to appear more intimidating as he filled up the tank and watched for any suspicious cars or symbols.Adam came back with the food and Travis let him eat in his car. 

They were parked at a rest stop.Travis only chewed on some sunflower seeds he had in his pocket.

Adam wolfed down a burrito and asked Travis, still chewing, “So why again am I the ‘Chosen One’ for this trip?”Adam couldn’t see how he was so special.

Travis picked at his tooth and then said, “I see you a lot at the repair shop.You’re always so nice and chipper to me.I can see you try hard with things—I respect that.I can also see you’re willin to learn.I wouldn’t mind showing you more experiences of the world.

Maybe, well maybe I even see a bit of myself in you.You can see what I never had the chance to.”

Adam wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, but Travis was being very courteous, and he knew the cabbie had a hard time expressing himself, so he thanked him. 

Adam then offered a taco.“Ah, no thanks, it’s tempting, though.I used to be able to eat like you.Worse, even.”

“I remember you coming in with a milkshake once,” Adam commented.

“Mmm, milkshakes.Yep, that was the life back then.You’re young, though.”

“You’re young too!” Adam, offended, objected.

“I know…things age you, I guess.”Travis’s gaze seemed to be wandering off into some unknown space.Adam could see why.Travis had been in a brutal war overseas _and_ on the streets.

Adam had a difficult past as well, which affected his outlook on life since.“I saw some pretty bad shit as a kid.Something kids should never have to witness.”He remembered the finger and the body chopped up.

“I saw stuff like that too.”Travis remembered the woman in the crashed car, body torn and burnt.

Adam knew he shouldn’t wonder before he even opened his mouth, but it still came out: “D-do you have any stories from Nam?”

Travis paused, and Adam was sure he had messed up big-time.His mother would’ve slapped him…the mother he missed again.Travis spat out a shell out of the window and Adam bit his nails.

“Um,” Travis began.

“That’s uh, that’s a hard question.”

“I know, I’m sorry.I just, well, I’m sorry.”

“It’s only natural to be curious.I don’t know what I can tell you—I don’t want to fill your brain with anymore unwanted shitshows.”

“Oh I’ll be fine.”

“I can say that shooting at the Viet Cong was fun.Well, not fun exactly, but we used to crack jokes about it.We’d say, ‘These yellow meat sticks can’t shoot!’ And it was true man.They couldn’t shoot for shit,” Travis said.“They were fierce and sent a ton of good men to early graves and grieving families, but, eh.”

Travis snickered at this but Adam just said, “That sounds a bit racist, Travis.”

Travis looked at Adam like he had a growth on him. 

“Oh who the ever-loving _fuck_ cares? Not when you’re facing down an enemy.Besides, that’s what _they_ said, not exactly, or always me.”

Adam decided to change the subject: “Tell me more about Iris.I know some of the story, but what is she like…like as a person or whatever?”

“We need to get a move on, but I can say that Iris was a sweet, funny girl..lost in dark, dirty depths.She was unlike anyone else I’d met.”He said “was” as if she were dead.At least, the Iris he knew.

Adam said, “Rare to find a girl like that.Women confuse me sometimes.”

“Oh trust me, I understand.”And with that, Travis drove out to Pittsburgh. 

The city wasn’t as “clogged” as NYC per se, but it sure was industrialized and crowded.This was the “Rust Belt,” not the tip of the Northeast.It reminded Travis slightly of the Midwest, and the Great Lakes.Some honks urged him to go faster.Adam was starting to get carsick from all the stops and gos the car was making at every light. 

The buildings were brown and white and some appeared to even be possibly as far back as from the 1920s.

It was late afternoon when they had reached the outskirts of the city to find a nice suburban neighborhood.Travis found the house, and parked in the driveway.They both took out their suitcases and rang the door bell in the front.Adam noticed bushes and flowers and yard decorations all around.It was a pretty little house.Even the air was cleaner and Travis especially felt good. 

An older woman with grey hair and glasses opened the door.She beamed and nearly bounced.“Oh my God…Hi!”

“Hi,” Travis responded in a serious monotone.

“It’s you! it’s you!”

Adam elbowed Travis which ignited the veteran to suddenly force a grin and open his arms wide.“It’s me!”The woman wrapped him into a big hug and touched his face.

“Yep, that’s the man from the papers! The man who saved my baby girl! What a looker you are!” She joked.Travis kindly removed her hands from his face.“Stop,” he said, “it was nothin, really.”

“Nothing? Oh don’t you even start.Come on in, come on in.”She then finally noticed Adam.Travis roughly pushed the suddenly shy Adam closer.“This is the companion I said I was gonna bring.He’s 15 going on 16, and I want him to feel at home here too.”

Adam then spewed, “I can stay at a hotel, though, if t-that’s better for you.”

Even at the word “hotel” Travis cringed and chided, “No, you need to stay close.”

Iris’s mother agreed.“It’s no problem honey.It’s nice having men to guard the house.I’m Ivy Steensma, Iris’s mom.I’m sorry you missed Mr. Steensma, he recently headed out for a work trip in Europe.I don’t know where that silly girl is…so come on in, settle down and choose your rooms.”

The house was clean, but showed that it was lived in too.There were fall decorations, and it was already clear that this was an “artsy” family.Paintings of fruit were on the wall and pictures of Iris when she was a toddler, with a curly head of blonde hair.Ivy asked if they wanted drinks, and both said water, though she gave Travis beer as well.When deciding rooms, Travis said “whatever makes Iris comfortable.”

“We’ll have to ask her when she gets back,” Ivy said.She then invited Travis to talk to her at the table about the events of last year, and what he had seen Iris go through.She was very emotional about it and was already choking up.This made Travis uncomfortable but he agreed to tell some.“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he had said, but something was puffing him up and he felt that same satisfaction he received from the newspaper clippings in his apartment.

Adam curled up in a chair, feeling just as awkward, and started drawing superheroes.

Iris Steensma made a flip, then a turn.Then another turn! The wind blew through her hair and she felt that empowering sense of freedom.She was almost…

_Crash!_

She tumbled into the thorny bush under the oak tree.“Dammit,” she moaned.

“Oww.” She sat up and picked thistles out of her bell-bottom jeans and a stick out of her hair.She looked at the wound—a scrape on her dirty elbow.It was next to the scars from the other scrapes…she was so used to it by now.Skateboarding had its detriments.

And gravity was a cruel mistress.

She picked up her skateboard under her other arm and walked briskly back home on the next street.She closed her eyes, letting the chilly November afternoon sunshine and breeze give her peace in her moments of freedom.She had fewer and fewer of these moments these days: what with advanced classes in school and painting and piano lessons.She was trying to teach herself to cook, too.She loved skateboarding though, and took pride in her battle scars from it. 

“There she is! Miss America!” Her mother cheered as she came in.

When she entered the kitchen and saw who was there, her face went white as a sheet and she had to stop herself from shaking.There were no words she could find. 

Ivy came up to her and tucked her hair behind her ear.“Sweetie, you ok? Iris, talk to me.”

She shook her head.“I didn’t know he, he would already be here…so-so soon.”

“Of course, darling.You wrote to him, remember?” Ivy eyed Iris, almost threateningly, and it did _not_ get past Travis.

Iris swallowed.“Of course.Hey…hey Travis.Holy cow, man.I can’t believe you’re really here…”

She walked over and the two shared a warm embrace.Travis almost didn’t believe she was real until now, as he saw her and felt her in front of him.His eyes were moist, but it could be the new air. 

The next 30 minutes was so thick with tension and uncertainty (Travis and Iris only uttered a few more words to each other) that Ivy finally had to break it by informing them of their dinner, which was tomato soup—Iris’s favorite.“Grilled cheese and all!” Ivy said.

Then Iris saw someone else—what the? Who’s this person?

Adam anxiously explained himself to her, and shook her hand.

“Good to meet you.”

“We’ll see if it is, Adam,” Iris responded.

It came to be that Travis would sleep in the extra guest room and Iris would sleep with her mother (something she did not exactly like).Adam would sleep in Iris’s room. 

Iris panicked, and immediately went up to straighten her room and remove any personal objects.She packed stuffed animals and homework into her closet, hid her underthings, and put away her records.She mostly listened to pop: music that made her happy and young, since so much of her youth had been robbed.She used to listen to rock, and still had her badass Jimi Hendrix poster.Earth, Wind, and Fire, The Bee Gees, Jackson 5, The Osmonds, disco—she had it all.She even had a small disco ball attached to the record player that glimmered across the room, along with her lava lamp.

Adam didn’t feel any more comfortable.He tossed and turned in Iris’s bed feeling like he was invading.Then again, Travis had seemed really on edge too, and he _knew_ Iris.Adam read his book, which was about real ghost stories—a bad choice. 

Travis, meanwhile, didn’t even unpack.He paced around, wondering what to do next.

————————————————————

Doughboy was slow to answer when Charlie T asked about his wife.

“She’s still got some pains from the surgery, but what can ya do…I just would love to see her heal finally, you know.It pains me to see her pained.”

“I know what you mean, brother.Felt the same with my sister a few years back.” Charlie T added.

“Oh yeah.How is she?”

“She’s definitely doing better, but her back is just…weird, man.”

Doughboy nodded sadly and took a swig of canned beer.

Wizard pointed to the TV in the corner of the cafeteria.“Well if it isn’t Archie Bunker…what a classic character.”

Charlie T also watched some of All in the Family while Doughboy began pulling out dollar bills and counting them.

“Hey guys,” he said, “I found this cat selling an unedited version of Blacula the other day, and I’m wondering how much I need to sell it for to buy Marilyn Monroe’s panties.What do you think? Does blaxploitation offer the best deals?”

“The hell are you even talking about,” Wizard laughed.

“That reminds me, I had a passenger who said he liked to sniff panties.I love this city sometimes man,” Charlie T commented.

“What about passengers that constantly want to listen to the radio? My cab isn’t there to play you tunes, I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen.Like, I can’t even fuckin stand that new Eagles song, Hotel California, I’ve been asked to find it and play it so many times.This is a taxi, dummies, not a damn dance floor.Golly, man.” Wizard then ranted.

Charlie T chimed in: “At least it ain’t Play That Funky Music.I know damn well that song is gonna be played at every white person’s wedding for generations to come.”

“Oh come on, Charlie.Lay down the boogie and play that funky music till you die…till you die!” Doughboy said, snapping his fingers, moving his leg, and tapping his foot.

They were sitting in Belmore Cafeteria, on 28th and Park Avenue South streets.

Every year, this tiny taxi driver group held a special Thanksgiving “two night get-together” at this local cabbie cafeteria, which held a holiday discount.They ate their favorite things from the menu and shared their best personal and cabbie stories of the year.The first night was before Thanksgiving, and the next night the night of.They spent their mornings with family or friends, and their nights with their buddies.Travis looked forward to it since he first participated last year.He felt like he belonged for just a few days—it was a “tradition” he actually could respect.It was incredibly simple yet enjoyable.

They heard the door close.

A young woman (assumedly a woman) had just run in, almost out of breath.She slammed her knee into the turnstile, wincing and reddening in the face but not making a noise except for the heavy breathing.

She walked over (with a bit of a limp) to the drivers sitting at their usual spot.“Evening, gentlemen.”Her voice was flat and raspy.She pulled out a map and checked it.“I’m..I’m glad I found this place… I actually arrived in one piece.I’m certain I almost died going by myself..through several corners to get here.”She bent over and took a hard breath along with a harsh cough. 

“You doing alright there?” Asked a confused Wizard.

She held up her head.“Totally…totally.So how’s it going?”

“What it is,” Charlie T responded.

“And uh, who are you?” Doughboy wondered.

“That’s Christina.You gotta remember her.She’s worked on our cars at the depot’s shop.” Wizard took a bite of cold beef while explaining.

“Ooohhh….yeah, nothing’s coming to me,” said Doughboy.

“HEY!” The man at the counter yelled, pointing at Christina.“You can’t be in here! Taxi drivers with legitimate passes only.”

 _Why am I doing this again_ , she thought. _Oh. Right._ She felt the money in her pocket.

Wizard put his hand up to the man.“Hold on Al, let’s hear what she has to say.She _ran_ all this way, after all.” His tone was slightly mocking.

“But we don’t allow-“ Al began.

Doughboy pulled out a wad of cash: “I’ll pay for her meal.You’re in luck tonight, madam.”

The man at the counter frowned while Christina smiled a bit.“Well, how nice of you!”She grabbed a chair from another table and situated it at the extra space at their table.

“So why are you here, Christina?” Wizard asked her.“Didn’t know you were a cabbie now.”He was highly skeptical.Wizard had still not gotten over Christina’s behavior the last time he saw her, and what Travis said about her only drilled it in to him how nasty a person she must be.

Christina shyly rubbed her knee again and said, “I know this is…confusing…but, Travis told me…well, paid me, to send a message.He wanted you all to know…*heavy breath*…that he’s in Pennsylvania, that he wants to see if any of you can cover his shifts, and if you could tell him what you guys talked about when he gets back.”

“Oh really?” asked Doughboy, “he told you that much, huh? I’m surprised; Killer knows more than anyone how to stay private.Why is that jerk in Pennsylvania anyway?”

Christina shrugged: “I’m just the messenger.Who knows why he does the things he does.”

“Yet you still did exactly what he told you,” Wizard noted.

“I was feeling kind, I suppose,” said Christina.

Wizard ripped into her: “The first time I’ve witnessed it. Sorry dear, but from what I’ve seen, you really do come off as obnoxious.I mean, the things you’ve said to Travis…saying he should be assaulted or tortured or that he’s gay and all this shit.It’s insulting and uncalled for and you know it.Maybe in your little world people can handle it, but he has mental issues—don’t tell him I told you that—and is probably depressed or something.Don’t treat him like that, or anyone for that matter.”

“Your face reminds me of a pizza too,” Doughboy teased, referring to her pimples and pockmarks.Anyone with “dough” in their name probably thought about pizza a lot.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.I’m not here to be attacked and ridiculed…what is this, middle school?”

“I mean, have you ever once regretted—once—the things you’ve said?” Wizard questioned.

Christina, quieter than ever, mumbled: “Well, I…uh..”

“Have you?” Wizard asked again.

“If you close your trap for a second I may be able to answer that, Wiz.” The shyness disappeared in a flash.“Ooooh,” Doughboy whistled.

“No, I don’t think I regret it.Sorry.I’m not out to hurt people, believe it or not.” _Unlike Travis_ , she thought.Someone who actually, _literally_ hurt people; blew their brains out, in fact.

Wizard thought she sounded a little delusional but left it alone.He had better things to do on their taxi driver Thanksgiving eve.

“Christine or Christina? I’m bad at remembering that,” Doughboy asked her.

“Chris-teen-uh.I don’t blame you—there’s so many variants of Kristy, Christine, and Kirsten it’s ridiculous.But it’s Christina, beginning with Ch-, not Kr or Cr…like Christina the Astonishing, the medieval patron saint of mental illness who at 22 rose from the dead, called out the sin of the world, and did bizarre things only she could survive.”

“Christina…” Wizard said, “that’s,” he snickered, “that’s quite a feminine name for *snicker* for someone like you.”

She ignored him.“Don’t mind me, fellas.I’m not a big talker, so you can practically pretend like I’m not even here…or just pretend that I’m Travis.”

The others laughed, and Wizard said: “I had this one passenger, real stiff guy, go on and on about how everything is cursed by the devil these days and Jesus is coming soon.He said Led Zeppelin is cursed too and if you play Stairway to Heaven backwards, it brainwashes you with Satanic shit or something.”

“I heard that too, I think it’s conspiracy bullshit,” said Charlie T.

“I don’t know man, I trust my pastor and he said Satan always reverses things to undo God’s design.”Doughboy almost sounded concerned.

“I mean, I grew up Catholic so I know what you’re talking about, but let’s be real here: nobody has any curse on them or whatever those lying hypocrite priests say.Led Zeppelin is still shit though, so they probably are corrupt,” Wizard said with a chuckle.

“Obviously you don’t know anything about Zeppelin,” Christina bursted out defensively.

They all turned their attention to her.“So you’re a music expert then?” Wizard asked.

“Yes,” Christina replied with little feeling in her raspy voice.

Christina bragged to Doughboy in efforts to impress him: “I saw Zeppelin live.” 

Doughboy didn’t hear her, so she said again, louder, “I saw Zeppelin live.”

“Oh. Nice,” was all Doughboy said.

“Ya’ll ever had one of those passengers that are so wasted they can barely speak and you gotta stop yourself from laughing?” Charlie T then vented.

Wizard almost spat out his beer.“Oh God, yes.How many damn times in this old man’s life can I tell a story like _that!_ It’s sad sometimes, though.That state a man can drown himself in..it’s scary.”

“Well…it may have been their choice, too,” said Christina rather coldly.She randomly smacked her forehead.“Oh Christina, you fucking idiot,” she whispered.

She ran out again, but not before slowly stepping over the turnstile.By the time she got back she was heaving.She handed Wizard a clipboard.

“He also…wanted…you to write down the time slots and gains if you happened to fill his…his shift.”

Wizard took the clipboard and nodded to her.Travis sure could be an odd duck.

“Thank you guys,” she told them, especially pinpointing Doughboy.“Help me Jesus,” she said, barely audible, as she ran back out.She seriously needed to take the plunge and use public transportation for once—although she was getting the exercise this way.


	18. Thankfulness

Travis was washing his face after he had shaved that morning.It had been a while, and his stubble was beginning to resemble a light beard and his hair had grown out shaggier to where it covered most of his ears. 

He needed to take care of himself again.

After carefully cutting his hair, it was now back to what it looked like last year, after it had grown back from the mohawk.His best plaid shirt was ironed and he was wearing his jeans, belt, and polished cowboy boots.

He stared at himself in the mirror, and then turned around.He turned back to it, trying to imitate James Bond when he shoots the hidden camera and the blood runs out.

He had to do this several times to get the right posture, the right shooting technique, and the right bounce in his step.He imagined people like the Loch Ness society spying on him, and how he would face them, get rid of them.He seemed to see symbols everywhere now, and every logo had some convoluted meaning to him.Even though he _swore_ he had moved passed it, he had this bubbling desire to delve even deeper into the gas pits of New York, and find any more traces of trafficked drugs or human beings…particularly teenagers and children, younger and in worse conditions than Iris.The police never helped.Who would?

Then he reprimanded himself for falling back into that mindset.It’s not his job.He’s a person now, with person things to do like celebrate a holiday by feasting.Traditions and traditions that now made so little sense; that came off so silly and irrelevant.Mere circus distractions.

“Like you can talk,” he responded to himself in the mirror out loud.He shot at it again, winking and clicking his teeth.

Adam woke up with a crick in his neck.This wasn’t his bed, this wasn’t his room—where was his mom?

He rubbed it and stumbled out of the brass bed.He knocked over a few stuffed animals along the way and had to put them back.He wandered over to his travel bag, where he only had to open it a smidgen and contents fell out, including a bong.

Worried as if someone would come in at any moment, he stuffed it back, far back, into the bag before anyone could see.He wondered why he had brought about half his room with him, as if he were going to be there a lot longer than he expected.How long _was_ he going to be there? That was never totally cleared up by Travis. 

He threw on a brown sweater and yellow pants, as well as his watch that showed the time of the morning.It was a little later than he wanted it to be when he woke up, and he realized it was Thanksgiving morning.And his birthday morning.At 2:36 PM today he would be 16 years old. 

In the hallway he found the phone on the wall with the stretchy chord, and dialed his phone number.His mother picked up:

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Ma, it’s Adam.I’m at the Steensmas in Pittsburgh.”

“Adam!!! What the hell! Why did you not call me when you got there first thing?”

“I was tired, Ma.”

“How are you doing? How was the drive?? Was Travis nice?”

“I’m fine.It was good, and yes he was.”

“He better have been to my boy.Oh—I almost forgot! Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to be making you my sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie so you can have some when you get back, ok?”

“Sounds good!”

“Alright, Happy Thanksgiving and PLEASE be safe.”

“I will.”

“Remember your manners and if you have to take the train back hom-“

“Yeah I know Mom.Happy Thanksgiving.Yeah—ok, yeah.Love you too. Bye.”

As soon as he hung up, he almost collided face first into Iris, who was carrying a load of laundry.

“Ah!”

Iris stopped and a sock fell from the basket.

Adam bent over.“I’ll get that.”

She snatched it before he could.“I got it first.”

She looked at him like he was a crazy person before entering the laundry room.She walked out, and they both now almost walked into Travis, who was as hard as a statue and probably felt like one if you hit him.

He put his hands in his pockets.“Well, good morning, boys and girls.”

“Good morning,” they both said.Iris appeared to be highly uncomfortable. 

Travis checked his watch.“It’s about time to eat, I’d say.Better shuffle your little asses downstairs before I have to literally track you down, wherever, you are, and drag you kicking and screaming….or else I’ll just spy on you,”he teased, already having spies on the noggin.

Adam looked horrified.“What about the bathroom?”

“ _Including_ the bathroom.”

“Uh, dude, we need our privacy!” It was an obvious joke but Adam was so paranoid about people watching him he couldn’t find much humor in it.Neither did Iris, who literally was watched by Travis on the streets of Manhattan.

Travis laughed a small laugh and shook his head: “For what??”

They both squinted seriously at him.He shook his head again and cleared his throat, saying, “Let’s just…just go downstairs. Go on!” He rubbed his hands and forced them downstairs as they both finally laughed.

Iris’s mother was already in the kitchen, preparing the finishing touches.Iris walked by, and without even a glance, Ivy called her back.Iris walked backwards to her mother, rolling her eyes.“Morning, Iris.Are you decent? Let me look at you.”

She stood in front of Mrs. Steensma, arms in the air.“Did you brush your hair?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“It doesn’t look like it.Brush it again.What is that on your arm?”

“It’s a bandaid.I totally had a blow out on my board yesterday.Don’t worry, I put medicine on it too.”

She clicked her tongue.“Iris, Iris, Iris.Always getting into something.Go on, go brush your hair again.Do you have any skirts you might could wear?”

“Mom, for the last time, I am NOT wearing that shit.”

“Okay, okay.” She waved her hand to get her to leave.When Iris came back down, she saw Adam narrowing in on her mother with the salad.Her arms were older, and straining.Adam smiled, cheerfully as usual (his braces shining) and offered, “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

Ivy grinned.“Oh thank you, hon.”

Not wanting to seem like the lazy one, Iris leaped over to her mother as well: “I’ll help you, Mom, no worries.”

“You can both help.Iris, it’s not a competition, calm down.”

Yeah, but I’m _family_ , Iris reasoned.Adam was just…too nice.It annoyed her.

Travis was sitting on the couch, eating a few grapes taken from the counter. The TV had been already set to NBC Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.It made Travis inwardly cringe like watching a plane crash yet he still watched.

There were a lot of things you saw as a taxi driver that had the capacity to scar you, but the Macy’s Parade had to be among the worst experiences.The sheer amount of traffic in one of the most visited streets in one of the most packed tourist spots…cabbies were in a frenzy or were stalled for most of the day.It was chaos.The year before, Travis tried to walk through the crowd and see the floats in person, but he would have brushed through so many people like a comb does lice that it not only made him uncomfortable, but he still would have been famous enough at the time to be noticed.Plus, he was wearing his dark green army jacket, and he may have been accused of carrying weapons.Even if he was carrying, he couldn’t let people know and it start a panic.

Ivy called in everyone to the nicely-set dining room.Travis carved the turkey, which he did well since he was…more used to knives.When Ivy wished everyone a happy Thanksgiving, it bounced back off Travis like the baseball to the workhouse floor.It was as if he was only told that in his life a couple times, max.

“Let’s pray,” she said, folding her hands, and the rest did the same.She prayed over the food, their lives, others who were not as well, Mr. Steensma’s trip, and giving thanks for Travis.

Iris had opened her eyes during the prayer and was met with Travis staring at her.She closed them quickly again.Travis himself scoffed at the prayer, especially the part about himself or their “blessed lives.”Iris didn’t exactly have a blessed life for a good while, did she?She was told to put a napkin in her lap.

He offered to fix her plate, but she refused, wounding Travis almost as much as the turkey. 

Adam ate at least three rolls, and Travis cut strips of turkey to dip it into cranberry sauce.The sauce brought to mind what the aftermath of a head-meeting-bullet looked like, but somehow it only made him hungrier.He thought about shooting turkeys in the Midwest again.

The conversation rolled from one thing to the next: Burt Steensma’s work, Ivy’s job and stress, how Iris was doing in school, which was “exceptionally well” according to Ivy, Adam talking about The Bad News Bears, the heated politics in the nation, and a new store that opened up.

“I’m more stuffed than that turkey!” Adam exclaimed, patting his stomach.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it!” Said Ivy.

Iris wiped with a napkin and snarked, “Corny as hell.”

“Iris, language.” Ivy glared at her daughter and Travis was now watching Mom.He still felt protective of Iris, even from her own parents.If they _were_ her parents.They were too…too normal, Travis felt.And too old.His own parents had him a little later, but these people resembled something more like her grandparents.

Ivy brought out two pies: apple and cherry.Adam was still too full, but Iris got a cherry slice with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.Travis chose apple, asking Ivy, “Is there cheese you can put on this?”

“Cheese?”

“Yeah, like melted cheese.”

“Um.What kind of cheese, American or cheddar?”

“Surprise me.”

“Oh…ok.”

It was a fine meal, overall, even with the collective awkwardness of every person in the room. 

Iris pulled over Adam:“You know, that salad was pretty tasty.I think we work well as a team.”

Adam smiled.“I’d agree with that.”

She smiled as well, and then pretended like she was distracted by something outside.“It’s my birthday today,” he suddenly said.

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Happy Birthday dude.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s your birthday wish?”

“I’d say a nap!” Adam yawned.

She laughed.“Well no one’s stopping you!”

He smiled at her again, secretly hoping his braces and hairy eyebrows that just about touched into a faint unibrow didn’t look so bad.She liked his feathered hair; it reminded her of Shaun Cassidy from The Hardy Boys, who she had a major crush on.They were still trying not to laugh at each other as Adam almost tripped going up the stairs—the clumsiness had not abandoned him.

Dammit gravity!

While helping clean, Travis considered dropping a glass and having Ivy step on it.He’d act like it was an accident and help her out in front of Iris. _Stop it_ , he reprimanded himself again.

Ivy was impressed with how thoroughly he cleaned the dishes and put the food away in neat stacks…which was ironic considering how messy Travis’s apartment usually was.

“It’s the least I can do,” Travis said with a formal smile.“Watch out for that nail on the floor,” he picked it up to show her.

“Oh wow, where did that come from? Thank you, Travis.What a gentleman.”

“Of course,” Travis said as he washed his hands.He bowed, and Ivy giggled.Where _did_ that nail come from?

Iris was just happy her mother was happy.She was itching to go outside again, or at least be able to paint in her room.She needed time to herself…to feel free again.Even the phone ringing was most likely family and friends, but she could care less and avoided answering it, as mean as it sounded.

But her room was occupied. 

Adam briefly thought about staying here, and suddenly it wasn’t all that bad of a thought.He missed his mother and boy was she missing him, but he felt an odd sense of comfort now.He felt like he fit.He took a hard, long nap.

————————————————

Mildred Giordano, mother of Adam, was viciously preparing the sweet potatoes that morning.It was _his_ potatoes.

“I’m telling you, Gracie, I had a straight nightmare last night that I couldn’t find him.”

“My God, Mil, calm your tits.He’ll be back…I sure do miss that boy,” Adam’s favorite aunt Grace was there, relaxing in the tiny table chair and already drinking wine.

“I know, I know.Still…I can’t help myself.It’s a dangerous world, Grace.”

“At least you know we still got connections…anyone who hurts him, we’ll make it look an accident,” Grace commented, pointing the one finger not holding onto the wine glass.

They both pinched their hands Italian-style and said together in dramatic Brooklyn accents: “We got connections!”

There was a knock at the door.They weren’t expecting anyone else.

She unlatched the door to find Christina.

“Sorry to drop in…but I wanted to be sure you were not alone today.”

“How sweet! Well, get out of the cold and join us.”

Christina introduced herself to Aunt Grace, and when asked about how her life was going, she quickly went from her boring job to the more interesting events of last night.It was evident that once she was around people she trusted and was more comfortable with, she immediately came off more assertive and her voice was louder.Even her body language was more relaxed and “in-control”: quite comfy in her chair, her arm was draped over it and she sat as if she were now brave enough to start marking her territory—her legs were situated like a man’s when sitting.

She told them every detail.

“Wow….you okay?” Mildred wondered after all that, snacking on a cracker.

“Yeah…I don’t think I’m wanted around, to say the least.I’m not part of their ‘pack.’I never was trying to be, I’m just doing a favor, you know?I myself know that Wizard is a blood-sucking mosquito who I will squash with my own hands if I have to.Ha…I’m kidding…kind of.”

She crossed her arms and sniffed confidently. 

“I did a favor…maybe I’ll visit them again, maybe not…maybe I won’t be in this city or my job much longer….who knows.You know, I think when I can I might vacation to somewhere else for a little while…somewhere warmer. 

In fact, I really don’t care what taxi drivers think, say, or do….not a single care in this bitch.I wish them all the best, because I’ll be the one laughing when they’re stuck in their shitty jobs and I’m…eh, never mind.Anyways…

Happy Thanksgiving! Do you have any cranberry juice?”

The Giordano sisters discussed mainly dramatic stories they had, or how much they detested the drug epidemic…and then they discussed ex-boyfriends.

“I was about this close to poisoning him.THIS close.I mean, it would be easy to get rid of his body, just wrap him up in a carpet…throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge.Snap! It’s done.Bada bing.”

Mildred laughed.“You scare me sometimes, Grace.”Christina agreed with Mrs. Giordano.

“Connections, Mil, connections!” Grace emphasized.

Mildred went on about a guy she dated with a large penis: “Like a fuckin piece of salami…too bad it smelled like it too, ECHH,” or “It’s not about the size of the sword but how you wield it, am I right,” and during this time Christina had been watching the football game faithfully, every now and then letting out a quiet “no” or a loud “YES” and jumping off and on the couch.To the point that it made Mildred jump herself at least once.

“I wish I could’ve cooked a turkey this year, but there were no good, fresh ones on sale.There never are around this area,” Mildred was explaining.

“Do you remember when I used to eat so much I’d throw up and pass out?” Grace asked her sister.“I mean I still do that, but…you know.”

Mil laughed:“Like it was yesterday baby!”

“Stuffing a bird’s cavity, any cavity really, is not something I think I’d enjoy to do every year so no turkey for moi either,” Grace then said.

Christina joined the turkey conversation filled with sarcasm she needed to release: “I prefer my meat to come from children.”

Mildred raised an eyebrow.“Children?”

“Yes, children.The slow, plump ones I can kidnap and fill with wine when they try to escape” Grace, who had been drinking wine, then eyed her.“Abduct, kill, sprinkle some cajun seasoning on them, skin them, and cook them in the oven until they’re well-done.When you consume them, you attain their purity and youth.Bon appetit!” Christina laughed in a raspy way at herself, Mildred, barely, and Grace just said: “That’s one way to get rid of the bastards.”

“Heh, dark humor…not for everyone, I know.”

“No, that was funny.You know you can be yourself here,” Mildred comforted.

Around 6:00 Christina was still around, and she saw the time.Her narrow eyes bulged when she remembered her duty and the clipboard.She forgot the damn clipboard.

“Heyyy uh, I’m leaving.Thanks for having me though.”

“Oh, alright.Do you want to take some pumpkin pie with y-“

“Nope.”

“It’ll go bad-“

“Thanks again—you’re the best, Mrs. Giordano.” As she hurried out, the door banged.She stepped back to shut the door much more silently this time.

Mildred latched the door again, turning to face her sister.Grace just shrugged and poured more wine.

Christina used her memory to return to the diner, finding the men chatting again.She marched up to Wizard, and politely asked for the clipboard back.He said he had no idea where it was.

After looking around and seeing nothing, Christina lightly placed her fists on the table, _quietly_ demanding: “Where’s uh…where’s the clipboard guys?”

They started chuckling and trying to hide it. 

“Outside,” Doughboy told her, trying to cover up his laugh.

“Outsi-“ Her face scowled and she sharply walked out the door.

She sighed and raised her eyebrows; cleared her throat and rubbed her nose.“T-heh, some pranksters th-these goofs are…just hilarious guys here….they like to have their fun, don’t they…haha, it’s cool..” She cleared her throat again, and her fists were clenched and her walk was coiled as if she were holding back every inch of her rage to the best of her ability.

She reached the end of the street to a little corner with a trash can, where the papers laid on top of it, now more disordered.The clipboard was on the ground right below a large spider web with a wicked-looking spider.

She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows again, fake-smiling and nodding her head.“Of course,” she whispered.

She collected the papers, not even caring about the order, and tried to shuffle them the best she could, hitting her head on a ledge in the process and letting out a low growl.The spider web was no problem—she loved spiders.She wondered if these city boys knew how to take town a spider web with a stick should they happen to block the path.

She also wondered if it even mattered to them that it was _Travis’s_ utensils.

Back in the cafeteria, Wizard asked, “Did we really have to prank her?”

“No, but…it’s funny, I’m sorry,” Doughboy said, though he still felt a bit bad.“Her face..”

“She looks like a nerd that would’ve been beaten up for their lunch money in my old high school,” Charlie T said.“And them serial killer glasses, aw man.”

“I don’t know, she’s gotta be strong for her line of work,” said Wizard.

Doughboy shushed them, and the topic changed as soon as she returned.

“Hilarious,” she said.

“So, I says to Frankie, try me one more time, and he does, so BAM I whacked his hand down again,” Wizard was saying in a story about arm-wrestling.

He wondered aloud: “Anyone heard from Ralph?”

“He’s been sick, I think.He’s one of the busier drivers, so I just don’t hear from him much in general,” Doughboy informed him.“What made you late, Wizard Man?”

“Two words: Macy’s. Parade.”

“Ah,” they all said at once, in complete understanding and sympathy.

Their culture was indeed something living, something even they in their small lives and small jobs related to and found comfort in: their shared knowledge of what urbanites and those around the country, or even world, are like when the rear-view mirror exposes them to the one in control of the wheel.

The conversations flowed naturally of humanity, driving tales, relationship issues, health, and the philosophy that could only come from the mouths of the lower class.They enjoyed each other while they could. 

Wizard was glad he had the both of them to share things to, since the day he met both, on two different occasions.Doughboy needed advice and Charlie T found solace in Wizard after being a loner cabbie for a while.He never understood the looks Travis always gave him—they were both the “quiet types.”What gives?

Speaking of which, Wizard noticed that Christina was still just standing there, not saying a word—only watching and listening.“No need to stand.If you wanna stay, go ahead and have a seat again,” he advised.

She checked to see if the owner saw her, and then sneakily took another chair into a different spot this time.

“So how was everyone’s Thanks and Givings?” Wizard questioned the group.

“I don’t know, I was filing financial bullshit,” Doughboy said.

“Watched the game and got stuff d-o-n-e done,” Charlie T said.

“What about the Gearhead?” He asked Christina.

She wobbled her hand.“Well, my cat puked on my pants this morning…that was a blast to get out…so overall I’d say it was pretty damn good.”

“Into animals huh?” Charlie T asked.

“Definitely.”

“You have wild sex with em too?” Wizard cracked up at that.

But Christina was disgusted:“What the fuck? No…sickos.”

“My apologies but I don’t know what goes down and how they do it in ol’ Mississippi…”

“Bestiality is some twisted shit, man…had a driver say he was into that, like watching women with dogs…sick.”Wizard furrowed his brows in disgust while casually drinking coffee.

“Try hearing a passenger say that having sex with a black person is basically the same as bestiality,” Charlie T said.

“That’s awful,” said Doughboy.

“Oh, you want to know what happens in Mississippi? I can certainly tell you,” Christina was on a roll now:

“We kill our elders to cull the population, then consume their bodies.I snorted my grandfather’s ashes.”

They blinked, and she said, “No but really, that’s how you sound.We’re not fucking aliens.”

“Though,” she continued, “I do remember my great-grandmother’s funeral.On Thanksgiving she would make the best mac & cheese you have _ever_ eaten.I learned to cook it myself, but not as good as her, of course.If you would’ve let me, I could’ve brought some to you all…It was slow-cooked in a pot, with fresh-cut cheese and onions…Mm, I can still smell it..one day, we heard news that she had passed in her sleep.We drove all the way to the big house where my mother’s family usually met, and the funeral was met with cheerful memories and a feast, which is common in the South.We laid out her favorite peppermints and whiskey.

I went out to play in the family graveyard, covered in moss and vines, where I found her tombstone and tried to knock on it to see if she would answer…” Christina gazed off sadly for a moment.

“I was barefoot chasing and trying to catch lizards that were covering the gravestones and my mother came out to scold me: ‘Christina Dolores, get out of that dirt and stop disrespecting the dead!’I was too young to understand it, but I wished I could have hugged her and eaten her mac & cheese one last time. 

So basically, I do rather wish I had consumed her remains so I could feel her again.I can’t eat the mac and cheese because I’m lactose intolerant,” she said deadpan.It at least gave Doughboy and Charlie T a chuckle.

“Well there ya go,” Wizard said.

Then the feminist topic came up.Wizard wasn’t angry at it so much as he was confused: “I support women having rights and voting, good on them, but I’m just a little worried it might be a slippery slope.”

Charlie T didn’t really care, and Doughboy said, “You never can tell, I guess.”

“I mean, like I said, I love broads, but…mm, there’s some things that they’re better at doing and some things we’re better at doing.” Wizard pondered.“What do you say, Crusty?”

He had called her “Crusty” twice now.

Christina put her chin on her scarred fingers, and finally responded: “I kind of agree, but I also think that everyone should quit acting….like children, of either sex.I also think The Feminine Mystique shouldn’t be so hailed, if I had to say so.”She refrained from calling out women in particular, instead making it sound more balanced as it should be.Besides, modern men had a lot of problems too, and needed to shape up—Wizard himself had admitted to an affair—if he was telling the truth, that is.

Though it was clear which gender she respected more, whether she admitted to it or not.

The only times she added to the rest of the conversation was to mention the Chinese Triads and comment on how driving on bridges with cabs is somehow related to the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad.Otherwise, she listened patiently to the stories and venting of the others.

By the end of the night, the drivers were pleased with their two-day fiesta.They gave their best wishes to each others’ families and partners, and good luck for the war zone waiting. 

“Stay alive out there, ya queers,” Wizard said in his all-wise way of speaking.

“Aye-aye,” Doughboy replied, Charlie T following with “Me? Oh definitely.You limp-dicks? Harder to say.”

Christina threw up the peace sign: “Led Zeppelin, three times, ’74, front row and proud.Peace.”

Al from behind the counter grabbed a broom after seeing her.She lunged over the turnstile and rushed out.

————————————————

Water was a beautiful thing.

How often it was taken for granted.How often it was polluted, or rooted out from the ground.Water encompassed the continents and held it all afloat.Things lived in and lived because of water. Oceans could be limitless in their depth, hiding the unknown and unseen.It was under ice and under deserts in vast quantities, while many suffered without it.

And here Travis was, wasting it.He was letting the faucet run as his mind wandered to these kinds of rambling, shallow thoughts with little meaning past what he assigned a meaning to.

He almost wished that he could watch over and control the waters, like a bowl he could hold in his dry, quenched hands.

He watched the water stream as a dissociative state was creeping upon him.He fell asleep for a few hours, but was woken up by a jolt to his heart and a feeling of panic.The Sarala woman was sending ripples through his mind.Now he needed to get some water, which was always weird to do in someone else’s house.He crept as silently as he could, and had to search for the cup drawer.He was still in his shirt, pants, and socks, because 1. He wasn’t comfortable in anything else as a guest and 2. He usually slept in his clothes.

He heard a rustle and an “Uh!”It knocked him out of his water fascination.

Iris stood there in partial darkness, partial lamp-lighting.She was holding a glass and was in her yellow pajamas.Eyes wide, she walked over to fill her cup.“Jesus, Travis, you scared me.”

She drank for a minute, and finally said: “You know…the last time I saw you, you had a mohawk, guns, a knife, and were covered head to _toe_ in blood.”She tried to act like that hadn’t traumatized her as bad as it did.

“The last time I saw you—you had short curly hair, heels, lipstick, and were wearing pink and white,” Travis added.“Very fashionable.”

“I hate pink now.It used to be my favorite color, but I prefer purple and blue.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re relaxing.”

“That’s a good reason.”

There was another long, painful pause.

“Iris…” Travis started, “I…I don’t want you to feel…I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“Un _comfortable_?” Iris nearly choked out, anger beginning to show.

“Yeah, you heard me.There’s…God, there’s a whole fucking storm of shit I could say or try to explain, but what’s the fucking point? You know and I know what happened.We made our decisions and we should deal with them.”

Iris nodded.It was an irritated nod.“Hmm,” she said passive-aggressively as she drank her water. 

She walked away, probably going back upstairs.

“Iris! Hey!” Travis called to her, still trying to keep his voice down.“Iris, please come back and talk to me.Please.I need this.”

She stomped back to him.“Oh you do, do you?” Her voice had a slight tremble.“It’s, it’s about what you need, that’s it?”

“No, don’t twist me like that.Why don’t we go in the living room.”

She sighed.He motioned to her.She sighed again and followed him.

He wondered for a moment if this was inappropriate for a grown man to be alone with a 14-year old girl in the middle of the night.Nah, fuck that—he and Iris were and always would be connected.He met her at his lowest point, and she met him when she was in her most dire need.They both saw each other at their most carnal—little drugged Iris on her knees in front of him, he had to rip her away, and Travis literally at the epoch of his mental breakdown, need for justice, and thirst for violence.Blood covered head to toe…she was not exaggerating.

They were sort of kindred spirits, the both of them.Forced into the same box and now can never be disconnected. 

He used those very words to Iris, and she only seemed to be more unusually quiet.

He remembered her being more chatty and snarky in Manhattan of ’75.

She grew a bit since then—she had the same features, perhaps the same height, but there was something in her face that slightly changed, and she looked more so 14 and less so 12.Her wheat blonde hair had grown and she sported side bangs.

 _Sport_ , even a word with extra letters gave him shivers and revulsion at the mention of that name.He figured Iris _must_ feel the same way.

“Why are you up?” She asked, though she knew the obvious answer—he can’t sleep.

“Same reason you are.Restlessness.”He knew this all was coming, and maybe his subconscious was preparing him for it.Hewas waiting for _something_ to happen, the pin to drop. 

Evidently Iris did too.

“Or I’m just a werewolf,” Travis said.Iris smiled a little.

“I wish I was in my bed.My mom snores _all_ damn night.I could be painting or reading or even watching Family Feud on the crappy little TV in your room…but no.”

“So, books and art…you like that stuff then?”

“Yeah, I’ve found my niche in creativity, you could say.”

Travis had never felt more proud in his life—whether it was of himself, of Iris, or both—one will never know.“I heard you were doing great in school.That’s awesome—you gotta make school your bitch.”

Iris laughed, and then quieted down when Travis hushed her.

She was starting to see the old Travis again, the one she felt she could trust.He was always creepy—he followed her around in his cab (even at night!) and the day he came into the brothel with her, he had spoken to Sport and _even Sport_ , the sleaze-ball, was iffy of him.

But there was also something she had a hard time forgiving.Iris was not going to admit this directly to Travis’s face at the moment; no matter her anger, she had no desire to hurt him.For a brief moment, she felt like the protector.

“When I was your age, I sometimes liked to express myself in written notes.”

She didn’t take him for being very creative, but again, she said nothing.

“Travis,” she asked out of the blue, “do you have any friends…like, at all?”

He paused at that blunt question before answering: “Well sure I do.Who do you think I am, some kind of loser? I have fellow taxi-driver friends…at least, the closest thing you can have to friends, I guess.I just like being alone, and sometimes I don’t.It’s kind of a passing mood.What about you? Who are your friends?”

“I get it.I like being alone sometimes too.Uh, me? Um, I had a few friends, they moved.I really only have my best friend, right now—Dina.She plays volleyball and calls me a cunt when I stand her up,” Iris grinned.

Travis chortled and shook his head.This generation.

“I’m guessing Adam is your friend too? What a goofball.”

“Sort of.We’re getting to know each other more.He works at this car repair shop specially designed for our driving company, so I met him there.He always has that dumb fucking shit-eating grin on his face, am I right? But..but he seems to just be a nice kid, though.”

“He’s cool I guess,” Iris flipped her hair and looked over to the window nonchalantly.

“I met someone else there too—Christina.We…don’t always get along, but I’m trying to with her.”

“Ooh,” Iris exclaimed.He had a _female_ friend.She thought he had something against women, even her.

“Well…do you have any girrrrlfriends?” She then naturally asked.

“Erm,”

Iris hugged a pillow tightly to her and smiled.“Tell me, Bickle, tell me!”

“Not right now,” he decided not to mention anything about Betsy or his continuing battle with loneliness.“I have no need for that much stress.I see plenty of gorgeous women in my cab, but I would never bother them.”

“Do you think I’d like Christina?”

Travis wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Hmm, if Adam is a Sagittarius and I’m a Libra…what are you?”

“Christ Iris I don’t know.I was born October 30th.”

“A Scorpio!! Holy hell, I knew it! God I’m so good at this.”

She continued: “I’m the 30th of September.We’re 30th twins! Only a month apart.”

“Indeed,” Travis realized that Iris’s birthday was the same day he first encountered the truck.

“When is Christina’s birthday?”

“Don’t know.”Travis saw Iris’s disappointed face and recalled what he _did_ see when he creeped on her legal papers: “Uh, January 28th, I believe.”

“Oh no..oh fuck no, Travis.Aquarius? You might as well break off the friendship now because that will never work.Passionate Scorp and logical Aqua…nope.”

“Ok, I thought we were talking about the events of last year,” Travis tried not to be frustrated since Iris was finally feeling happy and talkative around him, but he still craved resolve.

“Wait…how do you know Adam’s zodiac sign?” He was distracted again.

“His birthday is today, er, yesterday.Did you not know that?”

“He never told me, no.”

“Oh.” Iris raised her eyebrows.

Travis felt suspicious.This implied that Adam may be hiding things from him.His spy joke was all the more relevant now.

“Now Iris, you know I did what I did because I believed it was right..”

“Of course you did.What other excuse would you have?”

“You wrote me to come, didn’t you? You wanted me here; you said it yourself.So why are you acting like this? You should be _thankful_ that I rescued you from the oozing lions’ den…Sport was a fucking… _swine_ , and those using his ‘goods’ even worse.Since I stepped into this house I’ve seen how damn good you have it here.You have a warm, stable place with food, a room, and wonderful parents.Do you realize how well-off you are now?”

Iris’s anger was triggering her lips to wobble.She sniffled. 

As soon as Travis noticed she was crying, his heart dropped and broke like the glass he had been thinking about earlier.

She wiped her eyes quickly.“You…have no..no id-“

“You don’t know what—“ She hiccuped and covered her eyes.She let out a little sob.She suddenly seemed fragile and small, like a _withering_ iris flower.

Travis reached out to take her hand but she rejected it. 

“Iris..” His voice was sounding off-kilter now himself, “don’t…don’t do this to me…please, Iris…don’t.”It was now dawning on him the destruction he may have caused, not just praises.It was stabbing something in his being.

He offered his hand again and now she took it.Her hot tear fell onto their clasped hands.

Iris forced out her words: “You don’t know…all I wanted was a place to go, a place to belong.I loved New York City; I was, uh, I was fascinated by it since I was a girl.Sport found me, and gave me a place to belong.He said he loved me.It was music…*sniffle* music to my ears.Then came the traps, the sex, the drugs….I loved it.He made me love it. 

And I was hurt, some of them hurt me Travis, and…I didn’t how to feel other than I was hurting.I was free—I made my choice, but I was in a prison too—a bird locked in its cage.The skyscrapers caged me in and I couldn’t focus, much less breathe.I was not free.I was the 12-year old prize.”

Travis nodded, as if affirming his decisions.

“But…I think Sport did love me, and I loved him…he could be so cruel, but..he protected me, even if he kept me in that cage.I felt _valuable_.My parents are…well, sure, they’re nice.Sure.But you don’t…you don’t get what was happening at that time.I didn’t belong here.Sport was my new guardian.I never thought he’d hurt me like…like the others.I was so stupid, so fucking stupid.”

“You were a child,” Travis said.

“I guess I was traumatized or whatever…losing my will…it was all there yet I still felt fake freedom, I guess.There’s nowhere to run; you can’t cry.You grow up and do your job until it makes you want to die in your sleep.It horrified me…but Sport told me things…I loved him..”

“And now, now I don’t know if I’m supposed to hate his guts or my own.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve with deep pain in her eyes.No one that young should have eyes that deep—so full of stories, broken promises, and aching pains in an array of experiences.

He now noticed just how pretty her eyes were, regardless: a bright blue with tinges of green, and like two pools of freshwater stained but not ruined—life was left in them.

He held her hand even more tightly to signify he would not leave her, and he would not hurt her.Travis was right here, and he was listening.She was safe to do this in front of him—to be her real self, behind that tough shell she was so honed to encase herself with.

He still didn’t know why her mother was not the one doing this, she at least could have taken her to therapy or something, but then again he understood mother issues.

“Then you know why I did it,” Travis stated.

“—but dammit Travis it was _my_ choice.Women’s lib, remember? I never asked for your help, not once.If I wanted out, I would’ve told you, wouldn’t I? I would be literally begging.I get myself into situations and God dammit I’ll get myself out of them someway or another.And you just march in like it’s your business—the planet revolves around you and must bow down to what you say it should do…I get why you wanted to ‘save me,’ but..you killed them right in front of me.” She was hardly looking at him now, almost at something else in the room.“I-I could have died too.”She thought about what he said—about them unable to be disconnected now.Yeah, because of _you._

“I’d never.I have to face these shitstains every single day, so yeah, you start getting the urge to slay some dragons after you feel their fire day in and day out.Robbers, degenerates, pimps…every. Day.”

“They may be your dragons but I’m not your damsel in distress,” said Iris, sounding more mature by the minute.

Travis though, apparently didn’t hear her: “Everyday, Iris.All I have to do is go out and they find me…or maybe I find them.”

“I mean, if you hate what you see on the streets everyday, and it upsets you that much….why do you go out and search for it?I hate corn, so I don’t eat it—simple as that.Even _I_ know that, Travis.”

Travis tried to answer that but couldn’t find the words.It was Iris’s time, anyways.

“Oh boy, do you.You’re a smart one, girly.”

“And you’re intense as hell…typical Scorpio,” Iris said rather loudly.Travis smiled but put a finger to his lips.They probably woke _someone_ up by now, Iris thought, but at this point she could care less.She wasn’t scared of anyone.

They were in silence for a bit until tears fell from Iris’s eyes again, and she said “You don’t know, you just don’t” while shaking her head.“You don’t,” she sobbed, “you don’t know.”Travis had to hold onto her and be with her through her traumatic episode again.These feelings were uncomfortably familiar to him, yet….

Iris squeezed Travis’s hand and looked at the time.“Gosh, it’s the early morning.”

“We’re night folk; we can’t help ourselves,” said Travis.

“Heh, I guess not.Thanks so much for being here, Travis.I didn’t know if you’d actually even come in the first place.If you’d…if you’d remember me in the same way.I still don’t know if I can completely forgive you, but I suppose I respect you.”

“Of course, Iris.I understand. I’m here if you need to talk, and you can always say what you want to, what you really feel, around me—you know that.I care about you.”

“I really can say anything to you….anything at all?”

“Absolutely.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah.”

“Well Travis, I do have to say one thing…”

“Shoot, kid.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“About what?”

“That you truly care about me…again, I’m sorry if I sound mean, what you did was brave, and I’ll always appreciate and try to understand you for it.But…”

Travis stared.

“I think Travis cares about Travis.”

Travis’s entire expression, once soft, changed like a flicker.A darkness exuded from him and his eyes almost appeared more shadowy, and his brows arched.His poise resembled a snake and a finger slowly tapped the leather couch.He was still Travis—but something had been peeled away.

Iris squirmed, suddenly wanting to go back upstairs.She wasn’t frightened of Travis, she was glad they had their conference and he comforted her, but she had this urge to escape.

“I’m gonna try and go back to sleep,” she said, hugging Travis and quickly hopping upstairs.

Travis sat there, wondering if he may have just been put into his place by a teenage girl.


	19. Lessons in Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of warnings before reading:
> 
> 1\. This chapter is REALLY long. The longest chapter I've written for this fic so far. Because I think I have a final outline ready and official plan for the rest of the plot, and a likely number of remaining chapters, it unfortunately ended up that this chapter in particular had a good deal squeezed into it instead of being divided to save room, so I'm sorry about that. Also, I know my style of writing can be tiring to read, even for me lol. My advice would be to split it into two parts (or whatever suits you) to prevent feeling strung out and then miss important details, and just take a little break before returning to read, even if you happen to like it. There's a lot to digest in this chapter. 
> 
> 2\. Some more disturbing elements/scenes/imagery as well as mentions of underage sex work in here. Lighter (and shorter!) chapters ahead.

“Oh look, oops, I won again.”

Iris had completed her finishing move on Travis for the second time in their three Checkers games, Travis having won the first and Iris winning the next two.She bragged but acted in surprise.

“I let you win this time,” Travis said, “but I told you you’re too smart.”

“Mhmm, right,” Iris smiled.She casually ate a pretzel from a bag.

The two were trying to act like last night’s conversation had not occurred, and they were comfortable with each other like any pair of old friends would be.Travis felt a bit bad for it all, and so did Iris.They both were uncharacteristically emotional and said things…not exactly the best things to say.

After the game, Iris sat down to meditate.“What the fuck is that?” Travis asked.

“I’m reassessing my chi,” Iris responded, calmly and with her eyes firmly closed.

Travis narrowed his own eyes.“Chi sounds like a drink a limp-wrist orders at a bar.If you’re looking for good discipline, I can show you.I trained with MCMAP in my time in the Marines.”

“What the fuck is that?” Iris used Travis’s blunt question against him.

“MCMAP—Marine Corps Martial Arts Program.It’s US military-style self-defense.”

“That sounds wicked!” Adam suddenly had bounded in and exclaimed as if he were automatically part of whatever Iris and Travis were doing.

“What are you doing?” He asked Iris.

Iris, irritated, said, “I’m _trying_ to meditate.And certain _men_ won’t leave me alone.”

“Travis, I want to see that Mick-Map stuff. Let’s do it.”

Travis first sat down like Iris and waved his hands around in motion like Billy Jack saying his “chi” needed to be balanced again.It ended up with his hands folded together.

“What does your chi do?” Iris asked playfully.

“It helps you shut up your own inner bitch and listen to your inner Marine instead,” Travis said.

“Kick-ass!” Adam grinned and tried to copy Travis.Travis shook his head and made Adam do it again. 

“Well of course I can’t do it as well as you,” Adam complained.

Travis laughed.“I didn’t even do anything.I’m just showcasing bullshit.To be honest, it’s not some advanced style of fighting, and I wasn’t even some master at it either.But it’s the closest I can get to Muay Thai, I guess.” 

“I’m still gonna learn it,” Adam said.

“It will take months of rigorous training…are you up to it?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

After goofing off he managed to demonstrate a few simple, helpful moves to the teens.

“Block, faster!” “Come on, block!” “I can’t really teach.” “Don’t get all angry, it’ll fog you up.”

Adam tried to attack Travis four times, and the latter managed to kick, disarm, put in a chokehold, and point an imaginary gun at him each time.Out of anger, by the fifth time Adam had successfully blocked the arms of, “punched,” and flipped Travis to the ground.Adam kicked the couch in victory and Iris scolded him.Travis switched over to her.

“Iris, you’ll definitely want to see this in order to protect yourself.”

“I can protect myself,” Iris protested with confidence.

“Maybe you think so, but you never know.There’s hardly anything more important to learn than to learn survival, and that includes protecting yourself.You’re a female, so I won’t be rough with you, I promise,” Travis said, perhaps coming off a little too serious, and thus a little too odd.

But Adam was impressed.This was the least sullen, ill-fitting, and awkward he had seen Travis.This along with his knowledge of guns made him seem suddenly… _manly._

Travis took a defensive stance and asked Iris to try to kick his hand.“Uh, you sure?” She asked.

“Do your worst.”

She then took all her pent up anger on Travis out, kicking him so hard he finally had to stop her.

“Jesus, I didn’t mean send me to the hospital!”

Iris rolled her eyes but was pleased as well.“Take off those heavy sandals, first of all,” Travis instructed her, pointing at the clunky shoes.

She did, and tried again.“Good,” Travis told her.“Again.”

She kicked.

“Again.”

She kicked.

“Again.”

“My leg is tired man!”

“I said again.How you gonna stop any more pimps?”

She delivered one hard blow and nearly knocked him over!

Now Adam was impressed with Iris too.

“You’ll never be Marines…but at least you learned somethin useful from the best, huh?” Travis half-joked.“Semper Fi.”

Adam and Iris saluted him with their fingers.

Travis met eyes with Iris, and the two seemed to have their pain quelled among the other again.Maybe they really could work past this together.Maybe they could find forgiveness.

_Maybe._

—————————————

Iris was born on a rainy early morning, perhaps too unfitting for her character.

She was born Iris Eileen Steensma to Burt and Ivy Steensma in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on September 30, 1962.Her mother had her in the packed city hospital, but they managed to find a room.

This was before fathers were typically let into the delivery room, so her father read the paper and ate an apple the entire time his wife was screaming in the room across from him.Then, he heard the sweet cry.The cry of his girl—his only girl.

Cradling her was a life-changing experience.

Her mother had an issue breast-feeding her, and eventually she was given formula after a few months.She was a happy baby that rarely cried but did tend to make a lot of messes.She liked to grab and mash up her spaghetti bits in her high-chair.

As a toddler, Iris had a knack for playing with pots and pans and making clanky music with it.Her mother would take them out just for her.

In fact, Iris remembered a lot of times that she was left alone.Harrowing memories rushed over her anytime she thought any more beyond that.She had thought she blocked those out, but they came back like chewing termites.

Her mom’s mother had helped her potty train.One day, she had taken 2 year old Iris to a movie.Iris was too shy to say she had to go to the bathroom, and by the time her grandmother got her there, she had already taken care of her need.This was not the first time she had wet herself even at this age, the last time in bed.

“Oh, Iris.Why, honey?” Her grandmother had to change her and lift up her sundress.She ended up seeing things on her legs:

Bruises and an iron burn.

“Hurt,” Iris said, pointing to her legs.

Her grandmother’s face fell, and she lowered the dress back down.She was speechless.

When she was 4, Iris was playing with stuffed animals in her lilac-colored child room.She was often rough with them and played a game where one animal had to sell her company to the others, and they all would fight over her.Iris could spend hours playing inside and outside, with often strange games and imaginary scenarios.

She overheard her parents arguing.

“Maybe we could actually afford a vacation if you didn’t spend every fucking dime on a damn dice cube,” her mother had yelled.

“How about you stop spreading your legs for every man in this neighborhood first, whore.Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!”

“Shut up, she’s gonna hear you.”

“She’s probably sleeping, calm down.”

Intently, Iris listened.With a tight grip she hugged onto her stuffed penguin.She had an adorable head of blonde ringlet curls when she was little, that straightened out only a few years later, and full, rosy cheeks.She always had that small, pointed nose.

“Listen—maybe _we_ can go on a _vacation_ together, and I _will_ make it up to you, baby; we can just call up my parents to take Iris,” her father had said, his voice lowered now.

“I don’t know, Burt.I don’t trust your dad around her.He’s weird…why does she always seem like she’s in pain when she comes back from their house?”

“Ives, we have to leave, or the cops are gonna know.The junk we’ve sold still has its incriminating tentacles around us.We’ll be back soon, we’ll see her again.”

“She’s my baby, Burt.I don’t know…”

“She’s mine too, Ivy.Don’t you know that? But we have no choice.We sure as hell can’t bring her along this road.It’s what’s best, trust me.Don’t you wanna feel my love again?”

“Always.Let me, let me at least hold her one last time.”

“Of course.”

———————————————

“Iris, can ya do me a favor real quick?”

Iris turned to Travis after buckling her sandals back on.“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Go up to the guest room and grab my journal for me.It should be on the top shelf, and if not, look in the second outer pocket of my suitcase…it’s the bigger one.”

“The top shelf or…what?”

“The second outer pocket.Bigger.”

“Cool. Will do.”

Travis had no expression but raised his thumb. 

The bed was already neatly made, and nothing lay on the floor.

The journal was there on the shelf, and it was turned over on its bottom so that the furniture held in place the split book, open but upside down.

Iris picked it up and a bookmark fell out.She picked that up too, now seeing that it displayed an advertisement for cakes.Where did it fall out of?

“Aw man,” Iris breathed as she wondered where to insert it.She just decided to stick it where the journal had already been opened.She tried not to look at the words, closing it.

But her thumb was still between the pages.

“No, Iris, stop it! Stop it right now you snoop!” She reprimanded herself as her curiosity grew.

There was absolutely no dignity in reading someone’s private thoughts.That was so low, so beneath her, Iris felt horrible just thinking on it.But like the urge a child has to put their hand in the cookie jar, it tempted and swayed.

If Travis was to be totally trusted, wouldn’t his own words give it away?

Iris merely skimmed the two pages open.She was about to throw the journal after what she saw, then picked it back up.She traced through more pages.

They were drawings, not writings—other than dates.Drawings of various gun and knives, simple and advanced, that looked like they were drawn quickly.Most of the drawings were sloppy, but could be distinguished.One was of what Iris identified as a prostitute getting her legs ripped until she split in half.One was of a man carved up, his face unrecognizable and wild animals feeding on him, with the word “degenerate.” And yet, another was just of a pretty picnic with a happy pigeon family.And another was of seals on a bay dock, a baby seal drawn cutesy.One was a drawing of a cowboy on a horse, and another was of a barrel on a gun, and a political-looking man at the other side.One was of a sniper scope, another was of a dragonfly, another was of some weird peace-sign spiral, and then there was one of a beheading by a sword, the blood drawn in black ink.One was of a dragon being slain by a barbarian.One was probably a volcano but he stopped drawing it midway; one was the aftermath of a nuclear or chemical explosion, with a city shambled and people and animals burnt, with one fat woman still holding her blinded child, and the next was a panel underneath of that same child sacrificed under people who had blank, brainwashed faces drooling, with a writing: “There they are.All of you snap out of it before it’s too late.”One was of the American flag against the Soviet flag. Finally there was one where it appeared two people, a man with three eyes with tiny pupils and a woman with an extra arm, were trying to have sex, but he was castrated from belly button down and her genitals also mutilated, and they were both weeping.He colored some gross green color oozing from the wounds.Meanwhile these black-ink spirits were leaving their bodies, drawn so startling they had to have been demons of some sort, cast out.It was titled “Pleasant.”

“Quite the creative artist,” Iris whispered.She thought Travis hated art.Hadn’t he told her that once or was that her imagination?

The final drawings included taxis in different colors against a barely drawn backdrop.Another was of a violin.The others were pornographic, various scenes from various pornos: normal, hardcore, missionary, doggy, oral, hand/foot job, interracial, heterosexual, homosexual, crossdressing(?), cuckolding, and toys.Some were pretty rough, others romantic and sensual, almost like Travis wanted that.A lot just had writings where Travis mocked them, their bodies, and expressions he himself had given them.Others were left blank.

He even drew porn of _himself_.Iris had to skip those.The last drawing was also of himself: he was in a mohawk and army jacket, and a large gun, rather like the one Iris had seen that night, was sticking through a bullet wound in his throat.A gun wound was also on his forehead, but there was no blood.He was somehow dead and alive at the same time.He was smiling, happy, relieved; as if he had finally done what he always wanted to.It said, “throat-fucked.”

The deeper she got, the more writing she found.Travis was detailing events, in…quite explicit detail.There were some extreme things he wrote about, but also mostly typical, everyday things.He remembered conversations, and his vocabulary must improve on paper.It was almost like he had another audience other than himself, who he was telling all this to…he was talking to…

Who _was_ he talking to? What?

Iris was dumbfounded and shut the journal with both hands.She closed her eyes and sighed with shakiness in her breath.Shades of confusion, emotion, and great guilt poured into her to make a discomforting soup.She went that low and found out what happens.

_What did you just do Iris.What…_

“Did you find it?” The low voice scared her back into where she was standing, what she was doing.

“Oh, yeah, I did.Sorry, I um…I have a headache.I had to ya know, meditate again.So it took awhile.”

Travis took it out of her hands and she felt relief, as if it were covered in a veil of poison.

“I have something for you.”

Iris tried to look happy and surprised: “Aw, really? You didn’t have to!”

She thought he already figured her out and her deserved punishment was underway.

Instead, he took out something from his suitcase.He blew on it, and basked it in front of her.

It was a spiral book, with green and purple zebra stripes on a square on the cover.

“It’s a diary, so you can jot some stuff down when you have that heaviness hit you, and no one to tell it to.It’s quite therapeutic.”

Iris felt something in her heart.She had been so mean to Travis, proceeded to look through his personal belongings, and he was being so kind.She didn’t deserve it, really.

Yet what she read and saw were right behind her sympathy.

“Thank you so much, Travis.I’m sure it is.I’ll try to write in it whenever I can.”

“You have to keep up with it.You gotta promise me you will.I didn’t go out and buy it just so it can be left untouched.”

“I promise, like I really do,” she hugged Travis and ran her fingers down the cover.“What made you pick out this design?”

“I don’t know, it reminded me of you for some reason.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Iris was unable to meet his gaze for these next words: “I’m…I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting…but you have to understand-“

“You’re traumatized.I don’t blame you one bit,” Travis finished.

Iris simply nodded and scratched herself.

“I’ve had trauma too,” Travis admitted.“It uh, it can be really, really hard, for sure.Especially when you just want to be normal.And depression and disgust with yourself becomes like a downward pit you have to go to great lengths to avoid…but it’s always there.”

“I know.At least we can always heal, though,” Iris confided.

“That we can.”

Travis tucked his journal under one arm and used the other to place his hand on Iris’s shoulder.She wasn’t bucking him off, so that was good.He smiled wryly: “I like your positivity.It’s very, well, unlike me.”

They both smiled, and then Travis slowly gravitated his hand up to her face, his entire hand giving her cheek and hair a deep stroke.It was like what he did to her in the brothel, when he called her “Sweet Iris,” but somehow even more friendly.The touch was soft but Iris felt creeped out.Yet she tried not to seem unkind.

“We’re a lot alike, you and I,” Travis said dreamily.His touch turned slightly hard and his nail about grazed itself on her skin.Then he put the hand in his pocket and came back to earth, as if he just now realized touch can be affectionate but not always appropriate.

Sometimes he felt like a fatherly or big brother figure to her, so he couldn’t help it.

“Anyways, thanks for invitin me.It’s not as insufferable here as I thought it would be,” he was trying to be sarcastic but as usual what he said tended to come out in a way that could be skewed because of his social skills. 

Iris gulped.“Heh. Awesome.Th-thanks for coming.”

Maybe he was a werewolf.He changed his mood and his hair enough to be one.

He pointed to her and the diary again.“Write in that!” She saluted him once more.

After he left, Iris needed some time alone.She saw her palms had sweat on them and she hadn’t blinked in a moment.

——————————————

Iris tried so hard to be strong—not to cry—but that was easier said than done. 

Especially for a 4 year old. 

Her paternal grandmother glared at her, as if warning her to stop.However the tears poured harder when she caught glimpse of the bags and suitcases waiting in the hallway for their soon departure.

She was at her father’s parents’ house, who she only knew as Grandma and Grandpa.They were not quite as warm as her maternal grandmother, who would take Iris out and helped potty train her and teach her to walk, but they were decent enough.That was what she preferred to remember about them, at least.Other than…other than the other things.

Iris’s mother came out of the bathroom, looking as pretty as Iris had ever seen.Her nutmeg brown hair graced her shoulders, her necklace was made of pearls, and she was wearing red; even her lips were red.Iris tried to steal her lipstick once.

She patted her face with a tissue, and caught glimpse (and heard) the crying Iris.She kneeled down to her daughter, and cupped her face in both hands.Iris sniffled, grasping her mother’s wrists.

“You’re gonna be a good, happy girl for Mommy, right? While she’s gone?”

“Y-yes.”

Her mother looked a bit tearful too, but didn’t totally show it.Iris had noticed her eyes were red before this, but that was typical for her.Her arms were skinny and kind of veiny and pale at times as well.

She pulled Iris into one last hug before going to talk to Grandma.Grandpa was in turn chatting with his son in the living room.Even on this sad day, Grandpa had a cheerful smile on his face.

Then her father came in to talk to her.He wiped away her tears but his hug was shortened.“Hey, don’t you cry my little ladybug.We’ll be back, I promise.”

Iris gurgled.“Promise?”

“Mhmm.Mommy and Daddy have to go away for a bit.You just have to stay here, okay?”

“O-okay,” she tried to rub her eyes with her small hands.Her father had blonde hair like her, and was a handsome young man.She was going to miss him especially.When he rolled up his sleeve she noticed he had a little hole in his arm.And he was sniffing a lot.

After the goodbyes and after settling everything with the grandparents, her mom and dad left without another word.Only dad waved and looked at her again.Her mother did not.

The front door closed and little Iris was left in the kitchen with blurred vision.

Grandma and Grandpa tried to distract her with the goading of hard candy from the jar.

As a rambunctious, clever 6 year old, Iris began to push away her old life and home.Her hair was straighter and she sported bangs and pigtails on one spring afternoon, after the rain.

Grandma was taking a walk with her, and Iris kept jumping in the puddles even after being scolded for it who knows how many times.A few bruises on her legs and back had healed and she was able to bounce around more now.The fresh and moist pollen coating the flowers around her block made her sneeze.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop?” Grandma barked.

“It’s fun!” Iris objected.She liked to move around, but she would never be good at things like sports or running—only skateboarding much later on.

“Remember, you have to be clean when we go inside and make those Italian sausage sandwiches for Grandpa when he’s back from work.He’s going to love them.”

“Mmm!” She kept saying “mm” as she now tried to avoid puddles and cracks in the road.

They stopped at a cul-de-sac and Iris grabbed a STOP sign and spun around.She asked, “Can we go to the stars?”

“Can who go to the stars?”

“Pee-ple.”

“The stars are too hot, honey.We might be able to go to the moon, though.They’re all very, very far away.” Grandma spoke in mock wonder.

“We go in space ships.” Iris buzzed her finger around, landing it on the sign.

“That’s right.Did you learn that in school?”

“Yep.But do we go to the stars when we die?”

Grandma paused before answering that, not expecting the question: “Yes, yes my dear, we go to the stars when we die.Our bodies turn to dust, however.We are no longer here.”

“Are Mom and Dad in the stars?”

Grandma's face turned serious.“Now Iris, I done told you that I am your mother now.You should only call me Mom, especially in public.Remember?”

“Ye-yes Grandma.”

“We don’t want to get into trouble.Bad things happen when you get into trouble.”

Iris frowned to the concrete. 

“What happens?” Grandma asked again.

“Bad things.”

“And who would have to help you if you got into bad things?”

“You.”

“ _We_ would.It would not be good for us.So let’s try not to get into bad things.”

“Ok Grandma.”

“Uh?” Grandma had a look that was somehow both firm and soft.

“I mean—Ok Mom.”

“Aren’t those posies so pretty?” Grandma suddenly changed the subject sporting a warm smile, pointing out some nearby flowers to Iris.

“So pretty!” Iris exclaimed and went over to smell them, sneezing again.She ran, screamed, and giggled when a bee tried to chase her.Grandma/Mom had to swat it away.

Iris enjoyed playing outside, especially on the swings that her grandfather had built.He would always smile and hum while working.It made Iris happy but she still couldn’t get too close, not even to help.She might make a mistake and something might happen.

When those somethings happened, Iris felt a sense of emptiness to pair with her deep shame.She pulled off a few of her eyelashes once, she didn’t remember exactly why, and her worried grandmother took her to the doctor.She hardly ever took Iris to the doctor.

She’s totally normal, they had said, growing fine and healthy like a shoot.But she needs to be more careful; to stop getting herself “hurt.”She was prescribed vitamins to make her skin and bones stronger.

She had restricted independence, not being able to go too far, like the other neighborhood kids who went everywhere on their bikes.

Instead, she was usually watched by someone and was almost never left alone—not like when her real parents left her by herself often.So she also spent much time indoors, where she liked to color, help with chores, and watch cartoons.Her first crushes were on Jonny Quest and Speed Racer.

Friends were few.Her grandparents did not trust most people (men especially) and barred Iris from visiting other houses, though every once in a while a friend she made at school might come over. 

Iris didn’t think much of it at the time, but it all began to backfire as freedom and the outside world became more and more enticing.

The fact that her parents _clearly_ hated her only enflamed her desires further. 

They hated her.She was nothing—No. Thing.

Why else did they leave her? Leave her _here_?

Why else did they never come back?

————————————————

Travis scribbled in his journal in rapid hand movement while he sat alone on the couch.

Intensely focused, he wrote:

_I don’t recall the date.Vacation days are almost as bad as work days in that regard._

_I had a good Thanksgiving, and a good time here.Iris and I talked to the crack of dawn last night.I think she’ll come around more._

_No more signs of the Holland cult.I’m sure I’ll find them, I just have to look harder._

_I am still bored, and I still feel shitty.I need some goddamn sleep already.Sometimes I think I should have just gone to jail last year.Jail would likely keep me contained.I’d deal with the other prisoners when I got to that._

_Or I should rejoin the military.In the military you have order, and everything is assigned for you. Missions, resources, privileges, honors, comrades.All assigned.They’d have to interact with me if I was in the military._

_The room continues to close in on me, and I feel trapped in my own head.There’s a darkness I can’t pin down, and it wants to come back after I thought I tucked it away.There’s a thin film of black mold on my brain, I think.Loneliness sticks to me like glue, as always.I think it’s like an extra appendage by this point.I can’t live it, and I can’t live without it.I don’t want to be alone—but what happens when I leave the protection of my aloneness?_

_I should’ve been arrested.I don’t feel comfortable here._

“Hey..” A soft whisper made Travis’s heart nearly leap from his chest through his throat.“UgHH!!!”

Travis shifted to the side of the couch, covering his journal.Adam shifted too.

“Whoa, dude, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya.I wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright.” Travis was so used to being by himself he forgot others’ existence until they made it clear.

Adam nervously fidgeted with a pillow before asking.He cleared his throat. 

“Um…so…how are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Good.Uh, that’s not what I wanted to ask you though….uh, huh, look, you know you have the Toyota and everything?”

Travis didn’t answer, so Adam had to try to come up with something convincing even faster now.

“Well, I was wondering,” he cleared his throat again, “I was WONDERING, if maybe, um, I could….drive it…somewhere.”

Travis scratched his chin and Adam held his breath.“Drive it where, exactly? I told you it’s new.”

“I know, I know,” Adam spilled, “but I have my driver’s license and I know cars inside and out, you know being a technician’s apprentice and everything.I wanted….well I wanted to take Iris to see Rocky with me, I mean, if she wanted to.I can’t ask for Mrs. Steensma’s car, no way.”

Travis narrowed his eyebrows and twisted his mouth, and appeared to be thinking.Finally he looked at Adam.“I think you both need some fun.I get you, man.But if you take my car, you have to swear on _your life_ to be careful with it.I don’t want to see one dent, scratch, or hear that it’s been stolen.Right.”

“Absolutely.That’s why I wanted your permission and advice on what to do with it.”

“It’s a more advanced car, and a rear-wheel drive, but it’s simple to manage.Like I said, just don’t play Nascar with it.”

“That’s nice of you to bring Iris.You like her, huh?”

“Just as someone more my age,” Adam sighed and lifted his chin dramatically, “while I’m stuck here.”Travis smiled, which was a good sign.As soon as Adam left, he immediately reverted to his previous spot, stance, and steely-look, as if nothing had interrupted him.

He was soon called into the kitchen by Ivy to discuss more on Iris’s condition in New York City.“I’m sure there’s more you can tell me,” she said.“I don’t know what you want to know.” Travis, however, felt like he was forced to tell more anyway until he was milked dry of the story.

Iris didn’t agree at first.She claimed they didn’t know each other very well and it would only be uncomfortable.Then, she did agree, but wanted to see Carrie again, which came out early in the month but was still playing in one of the theaters.Finally, with Adam’s expert persuasion, she agreed.They left in the car that made Adam feel like he was handling porcelain and needed all hands on deck.“Finally, I can get outta the house,” Iris said.Adam wondered why she didn’t just agree the first time if that were the case.

The Toyota Celica drove well.Now Adam was really vying for his own car.Iris, meanwhile, directed him to the local movie theater as they passed into the buildings of Pittsburgh.

“There! It’s there.”Adam parked the car in the parking lot of the shopping corner where the theater was located.He locked it twice just to be sure. 

He asked Iris if she wanted refreshments, saying he was willing to pay for it, but she refused.

“Nah, butter doesn’t sit right with me.”

They situated themselves in the seats, and Adam felt weird and anxious to have Iris sitting next to him.He adjusted his hands as if he did not want them to be too close to her.

“You’re gonna love this.It’s a total Philly, Pennsylvania winner story.”

“We’ll see,” said Iris. She’d only been to Philadelphia a couple of times.

The movie was even more thrilling the second time.Adam forgot his awkwardness as he became engrossed by Rocky Balboa’s story, and the high-note finale.

Walking out of the theater, Adam asked: “Sooo….what did you think?”

Iris waited until they arrived at the car to answer: “Wow, that was, that was something.You were right.”

“Isn’t it!”

“The direction, the music, the plot, the characters—very heartfelt.”

“I know!”

“My one problem, though—“

“—they made Philadelphia look nicer than it is.”

“Really? I thought it looked scrappy but had heart, like Rocky did.”

“Maybe.I don’t know, I’ve only been twice.I liked Adrian and how she wasn’t some typical blonde, bodacious bimbo like every other love interest it seems like.”

“I get it.Hey, can you tell me some stuff about Philadelphia, like how’s it different from New York?”

Iris tapped her chin.“Hmm.It’s definitely got a culture, I guess like New York.It’s called the ‘City of Brotherly Love’ but I only found pieces of work there.There’s a lot of history, a lot of Benjamin Franklin, a lot of chocolate and cream cheese.A lot of Italians.”

Adam grinned.

“Are you Italian?”

“Italian-American.What about you?”

“Gosh, I don’t know.I think my family’s German.True Pennsylvanians.”She smiled.

“But, oh my God, Adam, the Philly cheesesteaks.Holy shit.”

“They’re good?”

“The actual ones in Philly? Oh man yes. I had one from a food truck and it still tasted like heaven in a bun with extra peppers.The cheese…”

“Can you get one around here?”

“I don’t know, I don’t go out much.”

Adam was about to say something about that, but concluded it was too risky.“Well, we should get some lunch anyways.I’m starving.”

Iris agreed.But when Adam tried to start the car, nothing budged.He tried again.Nothing.

He tried a third time, and it started…then stopped.“Come on you bastard.”He tried again.“Come on, dammit!”One more time.“Start!!!…please?”

Adam’s nerves were on high, hot wire.He tried to remember all he could about flaky vehicles, all that Christina had taught him (when he was paying attention), and attempted a good many attempts, and still there was no response—only an odd jingling sound coming from the inside.Adam knocked on it, but the jingling stopped.“I’m so sorry about this,” he told Iris.

Iris understood, however.“ _I’m_ sorry it’s not working for you!”

Adam leaned back and loudly sighed, ranting, “The one time…the ONE fucking time I am _entrusted_ with someone else’s car…it doesn’t start.Haha, it doesn’t START!Isn’t that so typical for me? Isn’t my life just one big fucking SITCOM?? BUT NO ONE’S LAUGHING! Travis should have never agreed to let me take his car.Never.What did I do wrong? I barely touched the damn thing! How can I have broken it already? Kill me.”

Iris peered at him: “Christ on a cracker, calm down.Don’t we just need a battery or something?”

“From where?”

“I don’t know…somewhere.”

Adam sighed again.He rubbed his forehead and looked out the window, hand on mouth.“I need to find a phone.I need to call Travis; might as well tell him now.”He tried to start it again, and again it failed.He looked at Iris. “God I’m sorry.This was supposed to be a fun trip, especially for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iris said, with a carefree spirit.“We’re both just hungry, remember?”

“Where’s that jingle sound coming from though?” She wondered.

“No idea,” replied Adam.Soon, they came up with a plan.They left the car parked in a shady spot where it was more hidden, and they asked the clerk in the theater to keep an eye out on it until they came back.The clerk, who agreed, was trustworthy enough. 

“It better not get stolen….then I’m really in some deep shit,” Adam said as they walked off, and he kept looking back at the Toyota.He knew this was more than likely a dumb decision, but he also did not want to come off as weak-minded in front of Iris.

“It won’t. You’ve gotta believe,” she said.

They were soon in downtown Pittsburgh exploring.Adam passed by buildings old and new, people old and young, small parks, and an art museum.Since they were both so hungry, they settled on the nearest food place: a stall that sold hotdogs.Adam ordered his in Chicago style while Iris got chili cheese.

“Where’s the Pittsburgh Steelers stadium?” Even in such a city Adam still had sports on the brain.

“Somewhere close, I’m sure.”Iris tended to give vague answers.“So is the PNC Park.”

She was looking out at the sparkling fountain across the street.She said, “We could always go to the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens.It’s greener than green! Totally hip and environmental, and totally old.”

“I’m not into flowers,” Adam said, with a mouth full of onions and tomato.

“Suit yourself,” Iris licked the melted cheese off of her thumb and used a napkin to wipe the drop of chili off her shirt.Her mother would probably make some stupid comment about it, but Iris could care less.Why was it always the white shirts?

“But, I mean, I don’t know.Maybe Pittsburgh flowers would bring me some fresh air, especially after where I just came from.This is all new to me.”

“Right now, I want to walk.”But Iris didn’t walk, she ran.

“Wait, what?” Adam had to go and catch up with her.She just bolted out of nowhere.Now he was grateful for his long legs.

They were down a shopping strip, where Iris was fascinated by what was in the windows:antiques, instruments, and clothes.“Oh wow, that’s adorable!” She was pointing to a purple and white poncho with a groovy design. 

“I bet I’d look good in that,” Adam joked.

“You’d be beautiful, like a Latino Cinderella,” Iris quipped, and they both erupted into laughter.Adam was forgetting about the car.

“Lemme just…cut off my foot first…to fit the shoe…there we go,” he had grabbed his large, long right food and was making a cutting motion to it.

He threw his hot dog foil in the trash and Iris scooped it back out to be thrown into recycling some way ahead.“I said green!!”

“Oh, I _like_ green,” Adam said, then regretting it.He just admitted he was a pothead.

“I used to smoke, not anymore,” Iris said, her smile a little faded.Adam was relieved she understood and wasn’t all judgmental.

“It’s a beauty.”

“Heh, yeah,” Iris’s smile faded faster.

“You know,” Adam started, “in New York City, there’s druggies everywhere.I mean like everywhere.They only add to our clog, as do homeless people.They’re everywhere too.”

“Actually, I think there’s a connection with those two groups,” said Iris.“I used to live in New York, and I’ve seen what you’re talking about.But here’s the thing—those homeless people? They’re druggies.One and the same.There are some bad people, in the city—don’t ask how I know this—and they get these people hooked fast.The criminals take over the business, and trade cocaine, heroin, and painkillers to make even more of a profit.It’s always about the profit: greed.Like, you’ll see people taking a dump or pissing right in the middle of the damn street.They’re all homeless druggies caught up in this business, and it is a business.Now they overcrowd the place.”Iris smiled. “The more you know.”

“Wow,” Adam mouthed.He knew she had this first-hand experience as a child hooker, but he refused to bring that subject up.“You know your stuff.”

Iris shrugged.“Eh, mere street smarts.I think technology is gonna hook people like a drug too.Everyone watches TV all the time now.When are the peep shows gonna start coming up on TV too?”

“That’s true.I don’t really have a good feeling about it either.”

“Like, people are all about their payphone.I bet you could put it in the middle of the woods and they’d go out and get lost only to use it,” Iris then dramatically sighed and flipped her hand back.“Agh, it’s horrible!”

Adam laughed.“A payphone?”

“Yeah dude, a payphone.They’d be all over it in, in the woods.” She kept mock-flipping her hand and hair.

“What are you even talking about?”

Iris bursted out in laughter.“Who knows!”

After their hyena laughs, Iris turned serious, and embarrassed.“Uh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.I don’t want you to think I am an airhead or anything.”

“No way, I think you’re just a goof,” Adam reassured her.Although the two-year age difference was becoming more obvious.

“Wait,” he suddenly said, stopping in his tracks.“What time is it?”

Iris looked at her watch and told him, and they realized they were overdue on getting back to the car and the clerk’s shift.

“SHIT,” they exclaimed together and took back off.

No more time to “sniff” the flowers.

—————————————

“Put your napkin in your lap, baby girl.”

Iris did as her mom told her.

“Gimme a kiss on the cheek!”

Iris did as her dad told her.

“Aw she loves me.Don’t you love me?” Dad poked her hand.

“Iris?” Her mother glared. 

“Tell Daddy you love him,” he said, with his voice now a bit lower.

“I love you,” she grumbled, picking at her mashed potatoes.It was dinner time for the Steensma house, and 10 year old Iris Steensma was “cross” according to her “mother.”

She had every right to be: the other day her maternal grandmother lost the official court case to gain custody over her granddaughter.She had been fighting for literal years to take Iris away from them and raise her instead.But her paternal grandparents were _extremely_ crafty folk.

Iris hoped every time, and her hopes were dashed every time.Now they were dead and buried.They were “in the stars.”Her anger grew, and her mom blamed it on the onset of puberty.Iris did develop a little earlier, but she was too embarrassed to talk about womanhood with anyone, except maybe her real mother, if she were here…if she was even alive.

She began to shovel the rest of the food in her mouth.“Don’t eat too much, my darling, we don’t want you getting fat.You’re already looking a little pudgy in the face.”Mom pinched her cheek.

“Oh stop it, Ivy.She’s beautiful,” her oh-so-happy Dad rubbed her back.Iris cringed as a memory came back.It was like a hot iron.

Hot iron—the curling iron to her legs.The sound of a slap.He had her; she couldn’t escape.

The anger and shame intensified with hotness.

“She _is_ beautiful.My beautiful baby girl.That must be why she sleeps in so much.You should work on that, dear.It’s healthier for you to go to bed and get up earlier.”

“You should keep your hair short; it makes you stay young,” her Dad stroked it.

_Stop touching me._

“How was school? Are you doing well?” Mom asked.

“Pretty good.My grades aren’t, aren’t the best, but I’m doing good, I think,” Iris said.

“Work a little bit harder on your homework tonight, sweetie.”

When Iris began to walk up to her room, she heard her father’s voice: “Hey, hey! You don’t walk away from this table until I give you permission to.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Remember, if you don’t do well in school…you’ll end up like _her_ ,” Now his cheerful grin was sly, and his tone mocking.She knew he was referring to the real Ivy, who he once called a whore.

“Yep,” Iris nodded.“Can I go now?”

“May I, and yes you may,” her mother said.

Iris was crying by the time she flopped on her bed.She hugged a stuffed animal—her constant comfort items.

Whore.Whore. _Whore._

The hands…the iron…her legs…the eyelashes…the hits…fingers…the pain that rippled in her body on so many nights.The ripples that then carried into her brain.Her stupid, _stupid_ brain.

She finally passed out in emotionally drained exhaustion.When she woke up, the room was pitch black and it was late.

Her troubled dreams of running away first gave her the idea.

She paced for two hours, trying to decide what was best.Was she crazy? _There’s no way this would work in a million years.I’d die, or something would happen._ She needed to stay here with her blood.

However, her mind was now set only to one mode—and that mode overpowered the pain.

She sobbed, but she placed a number of objects into a suitcase rapidly, things now strewn on the floor. She could only bring the bare essentials. 

She put on the outfit she was going to wear for picture day, put on her red sunglasses, and brushed her hair.She wrote a note to her parents, one deeply sorry for her stupidity, her incompetence, and taped it on their bedroom door.She almost knocked, but couldn’t bring herself to it.

She really was like her real mother: no sympathy left.Yet the tears did not stop.

She combined her allowance with stolen money from the family safe to pay for her passage.She decided on New York: the place where dreams were supposed to come true.She wanted to take the train, even though the ticket man eyed her with suspicion with how young she looked.When he asked for an ID, she pleaded that she needed to get on the train at all cost.He told her to get lost.

So she took a bus instead.It was a long, scratchy drive to Manhattan.There was a darkness as they entered New York, and then Manhattan came along like a lit up Christmas tree.

Iris was in awe.It was seedy, sure, but it was _different_.It was like a whole other country.

Various voices and accents and sounds surrounded her as she walked around.The loud honk of a car frightened her out of the street.The cars, the buildings, there were so many. 

She was almost too overwhelmed to think any further about what to do, or where to go.A sharp longing for home pierced her several times the first night, but she tried to brush it off the best she could. 

For days she wandered, where no hotel or boarding house would take her.She ran into crazy people, homeless people, junkies, and prostitutes.One man tried to get her in his car, and she ran off.When she could buy food, usually the stalest food from stands, she occasionally gave some to old homeless men, their hands shaking and their clothes eaten away.They thanked her and let her sleep in their makeshift tent homes.

Iris was getting dirtier, and flea bites appeared.Home was something so sweet now.She wondered about her parents and what they were doing.Did they send a whole search squad after her, or did they just pretend she dropped off the face of the earth like with her real parents?

She often went into hotel lobbies just for the warmth.A few times she dug moldy food out of the trash.She was itchy, smelly, and increasingly depressed.She hallucinated a bit, too.New York was less fantastical and more glum.

Then, a homeless shelter accepted her—a sweet black couple took her in with other homeless to offer food and space for a while.Iris finally got to bathe in their ivory tub and ate a lot of warm soup.She liked to save the bread rolls for later.

“Where are you from, child?” The wife asked.

“Pennsylvania,” she responded.

“And how did you get all the way over here in that awful state you were in?”

“I ran away.”

The wife’s face softened.“Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead.”

“So I can’t call them up? You have to go somewhere.”

“I’ll find it, that place.”

“Nonsense, child.You need a home, a family.You should stay here longer.”

Iris did.When the wife asked if she could call the police, Iris begged her not to.By the next day, Iris had disappeared again with a thank you note.

A few days later, Iris was walking out in the sunshine, craving an orange from a stall.A boy on a bike sped past her, nearly knocking her over. “Watch it!” She yelled.That New York temper already came natural to her.

He stopped and circled back to the side of her.“Gee, I’m sorry.I didn’t mean it.”

Iris was staring.He was so…so _cute_ , with his light brown hair and freckles.His face was kind, and he was close to her age. 

“What’s your name?” He asked her.“Iris.What’s yours?”

“Larry.”

“Nice to meet you, Larry.”

“Likewise.Hey, do you want to walk along next to me? I’m going to this really neat place.”

Iris hesitated, but her need for companionship drove her to follow him.

“Come with me, and you’ll be, in a world of pure imagination…” he sang.Iris discussed the city and life with Larry as they traversed.By the afternoon, he stopped at a very shady, rundown, but tall building.It resembled an apartment complex.

“Well, here we are!” He’s so cute, Iris thought.Then she snapped back to real life: “Where are we?”

“It’s your new job.”

“My new what?”

“A job. How you’ll get money.”

“Do you work here?”

“Kind of.It’s a service job.”

“And they’d let me work here?”

“Yeah, go in and see. Go on.”

Iris felt the need to run away again, but a grumbling in her stomach made money seem so tempting.Also, what if she got a job that paid so much, she wouldn’t have to go back home? It was her choice—finally, something was her choice.

The stone building looked greasier on the inside. When she asked someone about the job, they told her she could apply upstairs.A few men with colorful suits led her up the long staircase.

She was led down a hallway, seeping in smoke and the odors of marijuana, tobacco, and opium.The smoke and the dimly lit red lights entranced her into a dizzying haze.There were trippy paintings and colorful beads hanging.

Iris coughed and waved the smoke away before stepping into the top room.“You’ve got a new recruit,” one of the men said to another man sitting on a large bed.He had long hair, wide shoulders, wore many rings, and his pinky nail was sharpened.“Oh I do, do I.”

He took the cigarette out of his mouth.“Welcome. And who might you be?” 

Iris felt too scared to speak.

“No name? Aw man, that’s too bad, man. Well you can call me Sport.Real name’s Matthew, but nobody calls me that, ya know.”

“I’m…I’m Iris.I was told about a job…”

“Oooh yeah, you can get a job here.I could always use more little birdies.First of all, how old are you, darlin?”

“I’m almost 11 y-years old, s-sir.”

Sport and the men in suits looked frozen for almost a good minute.“Get da fuck outta here.Get’er outta here!!” Sport laughed and wove his hand at her.

“Please, Sport, sir, I need money.I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Ya’ll are breaking my balls,” Sport laughed in a half-sober way and lit another cigarette.His laugh was creaky and gave Iris chills.

Iris tried to back up but the figures behind her were blocking the way.“Come here girl,” Sport ordered. 

“Wha-what kind of job is this?”

“You just answa me this: you value yourself? Your body? Think it’s a temple and some shit? That’s what Mama taught you?”

Iris didn’t know which question to answer, so she said: “Yeah, yeah I guess, whatever that means. I like…me.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Well, I-I was always told I was special.But…I don’t feel it, all the time or, or anything.Someone once said to me that I’m a whore.” _Like my mother._

“Then you’re perfect for this job.”

Iris started to realize what this all was.She was young, but she knew things.

“I don’t know man, she’s so damn young…” a suit-man said.

“She is, but she’s safe here.As long as no one snitches to the the fuzz, we got no problems here.”The tone drop in his last words had a threatening vibe that the men understood.“Besides, I’ve seen some like it a lot younguh, trust me.”

“I think I wanna leave,” Iris told Sport.“Nah, you’re fine.You just gotta talk to me and I’ll hook you up.You’ll have some money to get back to ya family in no time, little Iris.”

“Can you really help me? I don’t want to do things I don’t want to.”

“Aw, naive little thing.Sometimes we have to.And yes, I can help.But you gotta talk to me and do what I tell you.You’ll have somewhere to stay, to eat, to work, and a new family to love.I promise— I’m like your new papa.Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.” He walked over to the record player to put on Neil Diamond.

“You’d…you’d take me in…”

“By God I would.I’m telling you, I’m gonna take care of you, Iris.I’m gonna love you like you never been loved before.Now baby, come over here and tell Papa Sport everything about you and your life,” he patted on the chair across from him.

Iris inched over, instinctively knowing the pit she was being baited into, but also acting completely on her own accord—this was her time, her choice, her inevitable path to become the true daughter of the “whore” Ivy Steensma.No, not a whore, a choice.

At least, she deeply wanted to believe it was completely her choice.It was less shameful to her somehow. 

And with a developing brain and complex emotions she was new to exploring, she was tired of feeling shame.

——————————————

The clerk was still there, but demanded extra pay.In dollars.

Adam felt his inner pockets.“Oh crap, I don’t have—“

Iris to the rescue! She pulled out money from her own leather wallet.

“Ah, nice.”

“Always come prepared, my friend.”She also pulled out star-shaped magenta sunglasses.

They tried to turn on the car again, to no avail.Adam inspected it from the inside out, and still could not find a likely problem.His heart was racing as if it were in the Kentucky Derby.

“What am I gonna do?” He put his hands on his head.“What am I actually going to do??”

“Oh God, Travis is gonna Travis me.”

“Didn’t I tell you to calm down and be patient? We just…we just have to think this through for a minute.”

Adam suddenly turned on her: “I’m sorry, but who’s the older one here? Who’s the one in charge of this car? Stop telling me what to do.”

“I’m trying to help, man.” Iris’s voice became angry.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Adam was trying to calm himself but no new ideas were coming to mind.

“ _Well_ , would ya look who it is!”

They both turned their heads in attention to the abrupt voice.It was coming from a teenage boy who was charging over to them.

“Oh no,” Iris whispered.“Jared.”

The tall boy reached Adam’s height and had feathered brown hair.His eyes were narrow and his mouth thin.He wore a brown leather jacket, and appeared to be quite proud of it.

“Look man, we can’t talk right now-“

Jared cut him off: “Iris, I didn’t know you were a movie fan.What movie did you see? I bet it was one with some raunchy scenes…you sure do like it raunchy.”

“Please Jared, stop. Let me have a damn movie date in peace.”

“Date?” Jared scoffed. _Date?_ Adam thought.

She sighed.“Adam, this is my classmate Jared.Jared, Adam.He’s visiting here for a few days.He’s…he’s my friend.” 

Adam snorted: “You look like a Jared.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please Jared, go,” Iris pleaded again.

“So you already got a new friend.Oh I bet you do.I hope I can be your friend, too.Then I can get sucked off.”

“Whoa,” Adam came to her defense.“Out of fucking line.She’s 14 years old.”

“And has already sucked off the whole high school.”

“No I haven’t! Leave you fucking sick puppy!”

“You know, she’s a literal prostitute, man. She’s just doing what comes natural to her, like licking balls comes natural to a dog.”

Iris’s face was red: “Stop it!”

Adam was now face to face with Jared.“Let us get back to our business, you go back to yours, and we’re done here.”

Jared pushed him.“Where did you even come from? You can’t tell me shit.”

Adam pushed him back.Iris was biting her nails.Jared had this strange habit of randomly attacking and insulting people whenever he was in a bad mood.

The two started a pushing contest and she had to break it up.“Enough! Leave or I’m calling your parents.Or the cops.Your choice, little boy,” she stood up to Jared.

He readjusted his jacket.“Alright, I’m gone, I’m gone.” He raised his hands and walked backwards, smiling at Iris but scowling at Adam.

“Yeah, bye, bye.”

Adam and Iris sat on a bench for a while, trying to think.The rain started and beat down until they were soaked.Adam already heard his mother warning him of falling sick.Iris, meanwhile, was still fuming about Jared and so had little to say.

After a while of racking his head, Adam decided to ask someone to help jump the car…and they refused. 

Adam tried to readjust the steering and check the fluid, along with Iris’s attempts to help.

Nothing was working, and it was getting dark.

Adam now had only one purpose: to get Iris home.He would deal with Travis, but he most wanted to take care of the spunky blonde girl beside him.

Tired and cold from dampness, he tried to start it one last time.

The car made a growl and came on—it was working.

“Holy. Shit.” Iris exclaimed."You did it!”

“I, I did it.I did it!” Adam’s mouth dropped and he laughed a winner’s laugh.“Yeah, baby!!” He high-fived Iris. “What, what exactly did I do?”

“I don’t know, but you did it! See, I told you a little patience pays off.Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to wait.”

Adam learned an important lesson that day.Vanity and self-preservation doesn’t hold a candle to duty, empathy, and patience.

At home, it was already dark.They were both mentally preparing themselves for the backlash.

Ivy was understandably worried, but was mostly grateful to Adam for bringing her home safe.She said she would “talk to her daughter later.”Explaining the situation to Travis was more nerve-wracking for Adam. 

“Hm. I don’t know what that jingling sound could have been.Sorry it didn’t start for you.”

Well, Travis was actually pretty understanding!But, he banned Adam from driving it again, predictably.

Ivy told them to change into some warm clothes and eat some dinner.After that, they all huddled on the couch to watch wacky people embarrass themselves on The Gong Show.

Adam and Iris shared a smile once or twice.

———————————————

As all this was going on in Pittsburgh, Christina was underneath another faulty car in New York.

She was staying late, fiddling with the exhaust y-pipe of a taxi cab as it stood on four strong jack stands holding it up.She heard multiple footsteps, and slid out from under to see.

She sighed heavily.It was the taxi driver gang again: Wizard, Doughboy, and Charlie T.

_Heaven’s sake, why are these cabbies so obsessed with me?Don’t they have fucking jobs?_

She thought they could probably give the worst, most dangerous gangs of the city—actually any city—a run for their money.They were all bonafide stalkers it seemed like too.

“How’s it going?” Wizard asked. 

“Good.”

Doughboy hovered over her.“Did you miss us?”

“No.”

They had come to thank her for joining their unique holiday meal.Well, Doughboy and Charlie T did at least.Wizard looked like he was just tagging along.Charlie T even asked her hours so he could give her more business, which she thought was nice.

Wizard scratched himself under his belt, and without missing a beat, Christina questioned “Why do you keep grabbing yourself?” Wizard looked embarrassed.“Pardon?”

“Go see a doctor for that.”She coughed loudly, which made Charlie T stare at her.She put her hand on her chest.“Sorry,” she said, “asthma.I go to the doctor for that too.”

“Sheesh, I thought it was a stray hair from your girl’s pussy caught in your throat,” teased Doughboy, and the rest laughed. 

Christina did not.She scowled—her favorite expression.

“Someone’s got Little Woman Syndrome.” Wizard muttered, hoping she hadn’t heard him.

Christina tried to defend herself, but she was already caught off-guard.“I would be careful in how you choose your words around the person who handles your vehicles.”

“Are you threatening us?” An angry Wizard asked.

“No, not at all.It’s a joke,” she coughed again.“I don’t understand the culture of cab drivers, but that’s fine.”

“The culture?”

“Yes, it appears that you have some kind of culture. I…know some of what you…you mean, but overall I don’t think I’d want to be a poor taxi driver who only finds fun with things like cafeterias.I would want a job that offers me more power and less frustration.Something…less dirty.More rewarding and classy.”

“But you have a dirty service job,” Wizard told her.

“I know.”

Christina made eye contact with Wizard and felt sarcastic again.“Why do they call you Wizard? Can I call you Grand Wizard, or is that too close to the KKK?”

“They call me Wizard because I know my stuff.Huh, you’d know about the Klan, wouldn’t you-that accent and all.This is New York and we’re tougher than old leather up here.In this environment and in this cold, we have to be.We’ll kick anyone’s ass under the bridge and live to tell about it.I’m a born New Yorker who’s seen it all, so I’m the Wizard.”

Christina folded her arms and began, “I like how you assume I must… _must_ know the KKK because of my background.I think Southerners would still give each of you Yankees a run for your money all while being kind about it, I don’t give a flying fuck how ‘tough’ you think you are.The South shall rise again, as they say.”

Charlie T’s glance at Christina unnerved her.She rushed to say, “As they say, as they say.It’s, it’s just a cultural saying.You know I’m actually not completely white myself, I’m mixed-“

Charlie T laughed and stopped her: “Oh chill, child.I’m playing with you.” He patted her hard on the back which made her move a bit and she had to reposition herself.“Nervous Nancy!” She hummed a laugh through her closed mouth.

“Well Crusty, if you ever do want a lady you can put in your mouth, you call me up and I’ll get a fresh one for you,” Wizard said. 

_Yeah your mom_ , Christina thought but didn’t say.

Wizard was then fumbling with his radio used for his job.“Stupid ass thing never works.I do _not_ understand technology.”

“Let me have a look at it.” Doughboy examined it for a while, trying to see what the problem was to solve it.Eventually, Doughboy replaced a part from his radio into Wizard’s, and the latter was amazed.Doughboy said he could easily attain a new one or maybe even trade for one.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Doughboy shrugged.“I think it just needed a part replaced.I don’t know why they hide it that fucking deep.And I guess I’m good with machines.”

Christina perked up—she was good with machines too. 

Wizard said, “Like hell you are! That’s news to me.How are you all the sudden a tech expert? I’ve seen you struggle with your taxi about 400 times, brother.”

“Maybe he ate the part and then literally pulled it all out of his ass,” joked Christina.

Wizard glared at her.“Was I talking to you?”

He still didn’t like her all that much, but again, he didn’t really _know_ her.She was a worker they saw and employed, and all the sudden she was here and all the sudden she was Travis’s friend.It was strange.

He felt a bit perplexed, especially in himself.He was the one who always gave advice and now, maybe, he was being a bit of an ass.But she deserved it, right?It was weird what Christina could bring out of people just by her presence—it seemed like.Even if she didn’t intend it, and really was a nice, normal person, it was as if she could summon the demon out of someone.Even Travis had ending up hitting her.

When Wizard and Charlie T left, Christina wiped the grease on her overheated face, giving it a bigger streak.

“You have…interesting friends,” she told Doughboy.

“Ha, tell me about it.” 

“Hey,” he continued, “I have to admit, I can almost see why Travis likes you now.Almost.You were pretty boss at handling our clipboard prank and bawdy jokes.”

“It was child’s play, not an acid attack, which by the way happens all the time in Pakistan and you do not see one person talking about it.”

Doughboy nodded slowly.“Riiiight.You know, they gave me hell too when I first met em years back.I was seen as this slick cockroach out for all their money…well I still am, actually.” He laughed.“You were talking about how you wouldn’t want to be a cabbie earlier, and I get it, honestly.Sometimes I don’t want to be, either.I’d love to be a successful businessman, where I can cheat people and not get in trouble for it.I’d buy companies and good trades and whatnot.Be the top of the game, no one could touch me.Hell, I think I probably could with Nixon still in office.Ford or Carter…meh, I don’t know man.”

“Good points,” Christina said flatly.

“I mean, we should have more of a voice than we do.”

“Exactly.The Constitution should be followed strictly…and only,” Christina added.“No overreaching powers.”

“What would we do if they did overreach?” The cabbie asked her.

“We’d fight back.”

“Like, a revolution?”

“Revolutions are for commies.I’d say more….a revival.Jefferson said the tree of liberty needs watering, right?”

“So Christina, what would you do if you were a top businessman or politician, with loads of power?”He folded his arms, not answering her rhetorical question.

She thought for a moment: “Well, first of all…I…would not be a leader with that kind of fame…per se…but I would respect the leadership over me and hope I can only do as well a job.We need better leadership in this country, and I would be willing to get it ushered in even if it’s not me, be it business or politics.I’m perfectly fine being second-in-command, or the general…no fame for me.I only want law and order to return. But…money is good too.”

“I think if you curbed your mouth you’d make a decent leader.Why not be the top dog, and find your own way and your own business…of, like, of sorts?”

“Thanks.But…no.”

“Is there anything you would like to do, or pursue?”

“I’d like for you and your buddies to leave me the hell alone.”

He chuckled.“Understood.”

“Wizard seems to be getting old.Maybe he should retire.”

“Wizard can’t retire.He’s, well, he’s Wizard.He just can’t yet.”

Christina did not further the topic, but reverted back to her attitude: “I mean I’d take off my belt and beat you all like red-headed stepchildren if I could.I’d bend you over and go to town on you and your tight holes with a tire iron until the yapping stops….starting with Travis.”

“God, I didn’t know you were such a dominatrix,” Doughboy teased.“I could totally see you into SM.”

“Spinal Meningitis? Oh yeah, I’m totally into it.Sexy.”

“No silly goose, I meant like, sadomasochism.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to imagine myself in a corset and boots.”

“I don’t know, it might actually be kind of hot.”

At that, Christina looked as if she wanted to be a little more flirtatious with Doughboy.She liked him, and he must like her.

He yawned after puffing on a cigarette.He said, “I’m gonna have to leave and get to bed early tonight.Long shift today.You’re not tired?”

“Not…really.”

“I’ll see you sometime soon then.Get home safe.”He threw his cigarette and left, smiling at her warmly as he did.

Christina watched him closely, until Wizard, a truly magical being who lived up to his name, appeared again.Apparently he had been close by the entire time.

“I just came back to say, uh…well, never mind,” Wizard stopped what he was going to say—likely an apology that he now felt was undeserved.

 _Fuck you and the taxi you rode in on_.Again, this was what Christina thought, but did not say out loud.“Alrighty then.Have a good one.”

“Yeah, uh, you too,” Wizard left.

—————————————

Sport became a constant companion to Iris.Indeed, he did take care of her.He provided her with new clothes (including a sunhat), food, and a place to sleep.It wasn’t the best place, and she was stuffed in with other girls, but it was something.She heard these same girls say that she was “the favorite” behind her back.She was given the name Easy, which she didn’t mind because she never did like “Iris,” which sounded like an old lady’s name.Why she was called Easy, she never did find out.

Iris apparently did not fully comprehend prostitution until two pimps beat her.She threatened to tell Sport, but it came to nothing.

Her first time she was drugged.She only remembered the overweight man with curly salt-and-pepper hair who made her give him a massage first.It would soon become repetitive until she was accustomed to it. 

An older girl, Robyn, taught Iris the ropes.She was the closest thing she had to a friend, even if Robyn could be a little mean.Robyn was addicted to crack and heroin, and was the one who showed Iris that putting extra sugar on jelly satiated the cravings.Iris herself had tried a good amount of drugs while working the streets.She was also there with Iris when Travis caught sight of her. 

The other girls looked down on Easy.Some were old, some were young, some came willingly, some were trafficked.

They were all locked into hell together, though.Nighttime was the typical time for action for Iris, and she would sleep in. 

Her clients passed in a blur: poor and wealthy men, white men and black men, one Japanese, one Indian, and one Puerto Rican man, and the ones who asked specifically for an underage girl.

Iris didn’t like to think about it when she got out, since she could only see how depraved and disgusting it all was.

But in that time, homelessness, and even her old home didn’t seem as bad, but this was still her choice and her job.

At least Sport loved her.

“I’m right here with you,” he’d say as he held her close, “I’ll always be right here.”

Of course, he would snap at her too, especially if she tried to escape.Though, as twisted as it was, he had more oversight over her and knew her personality better than those who were entrusted with her livelihood from birth.

She couldn’t help but love him back.

——————————————

It was the last day Adam and Travis were to stay in Pittsburgh.Travis went to the park, while Adam accompanied Iris to school.

Her school was much nicer than Adam’s, yet the kids were meaner.They stared at Iris as she walked by in the hallway like she was part of a freak-show.The boys jeered and the girls sniffed; “slut,” was a common insult thrown at her.Adam tried to stay quiet, as Iris had advised him to.

A small, frail boy named Neil came running up to them.“Good morning, Iris!”

“Morning, Neil.”

“Do you need help carrying that?” He pointed to her book bag.

“Yep,” she dropped it on his shoulder and he wobbled.Adam took it. “I’ll get it.”

This Neil boy was clearly infatuated with Iris, and wouldn’t stop talking to her about an arcade game called Pong.He desperately wanted to impress her with his skills on it.

“A 7 year old could play it,” Iris said.Poor Neil.

The teacher was surprised by Adam.She was willing to let him stay as long as it was fine with the principal and he was kept occupied—as in sitting quietly.This was fine for Adam: he got to watch Iris be more studious than any moron in that class.Even her pencil movements were graceful and determined.No wonder Travis was proud.

He sat with her at lunch and watched her at gym.She was a vibrant bird of paradise to Adam, the hobbyist bird-watcher.He’d have to draw that bird when he was back in Manhattan.

While walking home together, a hand suddenly grabbed Adam’s shirt to stop him. 

Jared was now facing him, his fist curled.“You think you can embarrass me like that and get away with it?”

Iris ripped him off and stepped in front of Adam in defense.“Don’t you dare, Jared.”

Jared attempted to push her away and was met with a sharp strike to the face, thanks to Iris’s earlier training with MCMAP.Adam grinned at her.

Jared was in a tizzy.He grabbed Iris by the arm and she yelped.“She deserves me, ya know? I’ll show her a good time.Go ahead and go home, new boy,” Iris struggled but Jared’s grip was firm.

“Best let her go, Jareth or whatever the fuck your wussy-ass name is.”

“No, I don’t feel like it.”

Adam had enough.He had to drive hours with Travis and listen to him talk about shooting yellow meatsticks, the car incident, and now this bullshit? It was time to show Jared and Iris alike what street New Yorker boys can do.

Iris covered her mouth during what she saw.Adam landed two punches on Jared, and his body hit the ground.He got up and landed his own hit on Adam’s nose.There was a blur of fists for a few minutes as the Rocky theme intensified in Adam’s head.Italian-American pride fueled him for about a moment until reality came back to him.

They hit each other at the same time, and after giving some of her hard kicks to Jared’s ribs that caused him to groan, Iris ordered that they stop and that she and Adam leave before it escalated any further.

They took each others’ hands and ran home.Back home, they were panting and laughing.“Oh my God that was awesome,” Iris heaved, leaning on a wall.“Let’s dance to celebrate.”

“Wha?” Adam panted.“I said let’s dance!”

Iris put on a Five Stairsteps record in her room, which played “O-O-H Child.”

“Here, just take my hand.”

“And maybe put..this…arm closer to my waist,” she pulled his other hand to it.Adam didn’t remember the last time he danced, probably at a school party. 

“And just jive, baby,” their dancing was a bit awkward, but they got the basic hang of it. 

Adam was still on a thrill.Gonna fly now.

“You’re cute, you know that.”

Iris made this weird expression.“Eh, not really.I’m plain and boyish.”

“I think you’re pretty cute, myself.And never listen to those self-righteous idiots at school.You’re a smart, good person.I could give less of a fuck what you used to do.Can you dig it?”

“Gosh Adam, thanks. Yeah, I can dig it.”

“Right on,” he twirled her around in a stiff manner that caused his partner to giggle.

 _“Oooh child, things are gonna be easier.Oooh, child, things’ll be brighter.”_

“That was quite a show you put on back there.If my parents find out…well, it won’t be good.But man, what a show.Jared’s gonna be pissing blood.”

“Mostly thanks to you, though,” Adam said.They play-fought each other with bad US Marines martial arts moves for a moment and returned to dancing.

She suddenly got closer to him.“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came along.”

Adam smiled, now realizing his braces had cut into his gums from the fight.He didn’t care. 

“I am too.”

“So,” she then asked, “if you’re Italian, what’s your last name?”

“Giordano.”

Iris paused.“Uh, say that again—”

“Giordano.Adam Giordano,” he was still smiling, but Iris was _not._

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to, um, Benny Giordano, would you?”

Adam was slow to respond: “….yes, I am.He’s, well, he’s my late father.”

Iris rushed to cut off the music.She kept shaking her head:“No, no, no, no no…”

“What’s wrong?” Though Adam already knew what was wrong with his father.

“No,” she began to sob, “ _No_.”

“For God’s sake, Iris, what is it?”

Iris’s youth was as clear as daylight to Adam now.Only two years ago she was being pimped out.She was just a _baby_.Disgust and pity filled him.

Instead of Adam, Iris was now dancing with Sport.

“Come to me, baby.”

“So close.”

She was inside and outside of the cab on the dark street.

“Bitch, be cool!”

She was in the room on that night Travis snapped.She was putting on lipstick and smoking a joint to numb herself when Sport came in, wearing a vest and a hippie headband around his ratty hair.

“Make yourself decent, Easy.Mr. Giordano will be wantin’ you soon.”

The man with the plaid suit and large glasses stepped up to Sport outside the apartments/brothel: “Is Iris in her room?” He paid.

She had to service that man, the important man that even Sport had to bow to, before Travis entered in a torrent of bloodshed and shot down Mr. Giordano until his face and body were nothing but holes, laid out in front of her.She remembered her screams piercing the air along with ringing gunshots and sounds of bullets tearing apart flesh.

Adam walked closer to Iris, “Talk to me.”

“He’s…Giordano, was your father…the _mafioso_.”

Adam sighed: “Yes, yes he was a high-ranking member in the New York mafia.Do you think I take fuckin pride in that fact? That I like being the son of a criminal with a bloodline going back to Sicily?I grew up well in Brooklyn because of his work.I didn’t know what he did, just that he was good at it.When I was first told about it…trust me Iris, it hurt me to the core.It’s-It’s because of him that I was…”

“…that I was recruited to be a child soldato,” his voice was shaky and pained.

Iris backed away. 

“I never knew why, I thought I was kidnapped.But…but he apparently made a deal with them that I could be useful…and I, I wasn’t.”Tears brimmed Adam’s soft brown eyes and he couldn’t bear to look at his fingers.Fingers and maggots haunted him.There was the scream of the old man on the floor.“His own child…”

“That’s not me, Iris.I’m not my father, I swear.I live in squalor now just to be kept safe and distant from those creatures, that life.Wait..” He sniffled, “how do you even know who he was?”

Iris was crying too.“B-Because he was a client of mine, Adam.”

Adam’s face totally changed.“You’re lying,” he accused.

“He was, he was there when Travis killed-“

“YOU’RE LYING!” He screamed.

“I’M NOT,” she screamed back.In a tiny, scared voice, she repeated, “I’m not.”Tears were roughly wiped from her face.

“H-h-h-ow could, y-you not know _that_??”

“She never told me,” and it was true.His mother had apparently hid his father’s job, his nighttime proclivities, and his entire death from him.She discouraged reading the papers about Travis.She told her son that his father died from a mob hit around that same time, when her clothes were black and she would cry every night.Death was a big event in Catholicism, but no one dared mention Benito “Benny” Giordano’s profession at the funeral.

His father, who despite his scummy background and Adam’s mental scars, he loved and respected deeply, and finally, fully forgave him when he was murdered.Benny would talk to him, play ball with him, and would give him advice, as he was known to be a good dad.And now, Iris was telling him he was a child rapist and she was in the room with him.

Iris felt that burning, hot-iron shame again.She wished she never met Adam.Actually, she wished Travis never had come in the first place.

“Travis killed him,” she reiterated to Adam.

Adam stared into space for a good while, his mouth barely open.His entire views on his father, Iris, and Travis, indeed maybe even his entire world, were just turned upside down.Iris was in no better of a state, but she already had layers of trauma upon trauma.

“Okay, okay,” Adam breathed and attempted to turn around the situation, maybe out of panic: “So our childhoods were robbed and our parents were shit.Travis has affected both of us.Why don’t we just, just chill out, and,” he let out a strained laugh, “and come closer together for it.”He couldn’t lose Iris Steensma.“We could smoke it out.”

Iris shook her head.“I can’t…I’m sorry.Not right now.”

Adam tried to understand, but they were both in enough shock to have limited wisdom.

“Then, then I guess I better pack up.We’ll have to leave soon.”

“Do what you have to do.”

Adam silently packed as Iris sat on her bed, with her hands gripping the diary she still needed to write in.

“Goodbye, Iris.It was…so great to meet you,” Adam told her at the door.

“Goodbye Adam,” her small voice shook.“Nice to meet you too.”

“Do you want me to close the door?” He asked.She nodded yes.

He closed it with a hushed shudder, and looked at it for the last time.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and gradually walked away from it.

_“Someday yeah, we’ll put it together and we’ll get it undone._

_Someday, when your head is much lighter._

_Someday yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun._

_Someday, when the world is much brighter.”_


	20. So Say the People

For such suburban, simple, carpeted stairs, the trip down the flight was a long one for Adam.

Every step he made had the heavy weight one has when their feet have anvils attached to them.

The ones attached to a long rope like in a cartoon.

His last step was heavy, and he hit the wooden floor with a thud.His stomach felt kind of empty, though it was filled with hot gas instead of acid.He felt an odd sense of vertigo that added to the queasiness.To make matters worse, he almost ran into Iris’s mother, Ivy.She had her arms crossed and she was not a happy camper, judging by her face.

“So what was all that yelling and stomping about up there?”

Adam tried to hide his reddened eyes.He spoke what he was able to.

“We had an argument.We’re fine now.” _Yep, 100% fine._

“An argument huh? Sorry but I just don’t want to go up and see my daughter upset because of something _you did_ , you know what I mean?”

Adam’s pressure in his head elevated.Maybe she should try finding out the darkest secrets of her family and friends sometime, or live under the shadow of the Mafia.That would wipe that look off of her old face.

“Well Mr. Adam, I hope you both had a good time regardless.Are you all packed? Travis is getting ready right now, I think.”

“Packed.”He lifted up the suitcase.She nodded, gave him one last eyebrow raise, and sat into a kitchen chair.

Travis was soon downstairs and at the receiving end of another large hug from Ivy.

“Ohh, I’m so glad you came!! You are the best thing to have happened to us since our little Iris came into this world!”

Travis just looked happy to be back home soon.He wasn’t very receptive to Ivy but tried his best to be grateful for his stay.Her words never failed to embarrass him.

“I wouldn’t go that far.Where is she, by the way?”

“She’s in her room,” Adam said sullenly, and Travis immediately noticed his peculiar lack of energy and positivity.Adam was not even looking him in the eye.He didn’t look too welcoming to Travis today.

“I’ll go up and tell her bye, then.”Travis knocked on her door and there was no answer.He knocked again: “Iris? Can I say bye at least?” She must still be mad at him.So damn moody these teenagers were.

She opened the door and let him step in.He saw her diary was out, and looked pleased that she was already enjoying his gift.He knew it was a good idea.“My room’s kind of a mess, sorry.”She pulled her hair back in a ponytail.“I really do hope you had a good time here.I know it was a bit, rocky,” ouch, she thought. Rocky.Adam.

“I don’t think so.I think it was fairly calm.I ain’t calm all the time, but that’s me, not you.”

Iris got up to face him.“I know I said it was my choice, but you did wake me up, Travis.I was asleep in New York.”

“I had to.”

“Did you really? I guess your heart was in the right place.”

“And at the right time.”

“Maybe I was the right person for you at that time, and you were for me,” Iris said.

“I think so.When everyone is against you, finding that one person for you is like a blessing.” That touched Iris.

“You freed me.Well, mostly.I’m still stuck in dumbass school, but I’ll be truly free one day.One day, I tells ya!”

“School is good though,” Travis said.

Iris took a hold of his hand.“Thank you Travis.Thanks for everything.”

Travis cocked a smile and squeezed her hand back.“Don’t worry about it.”

“Have a safe trip back!”

“We will.You stay focused and study, now.Be your best and try to be…happy.”He had to think of things normal and optimistic to say, which was a struggle for him.

“Alright, Travis.Bye,” she said almost sadly, and waved her hand.

“Goodbye, Iris.” He glanced at her with satisfaction before he left.

Iris’s fake smile disappeared the moment the door closed.Tears were not far off again as the gravity of the situation lingered back.Oh, he freed her alright. 

And he put her right back where she started.

Nevertheless, her heart was with Travis, as much as she tried to deny it.

"One day I’ll be free,” she said to herself with comfort, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand in a hard sniffle.“One day.”

Travis stepped to the front door and had to say goodbye one more time to Ivy.Something about her put him off.Adam was still lingering around as if he were lost in the house.

“Adam, let’s go,” Travis snipped at him.Adam took forever to get to the door and into the car.

As much as he wanted to get home, it made Travis a little discontent to leave Iris again.He really did hope she would keep doing well, and stay safe and healthy and…happy, like he said.

It was remarkable how one person might change your entire life forever.

If Adam could read minds, he would say, _tell me about it._

Adam was so quiet during the trip back that Travis finally had to break his own silence to ask what was wrong.

“Nothing,” but he said it in such a way that it only concerned Travis further.

Adam was still greatly confused about it all, especially in regards to Travis.He wasn’t sure if he could still be friends with his father’s killer, much less talk to him, even if his father actually was that bad. _That_ bad.A thought that made Adam uncomfortable entered and then left his mind for a moment.

_He has complete control over this car.At any second, he could pull over, and finish the job by taking the son out too.He’d probably do it in the middle of nowhere and bury me where no one could find me._

He shooed the thought away, believing it to be his mother’s paranoia coming through.Though it remained a distant consideration.

Travis didn’t exactly know what happened to Adam while they were out, or in her room, or if he _himself_ had done something wrong.Iris seemed down too. _He better not have hurt her in that room._

He didn’t even realize he was continuously glaring at Adam until he noticed Adam squirming in his seat, as if he wanted to get out of the car.

“Can I turn on some music this time?” Adam asked in a deep, serious voice.

Travis’s look suddenly softened.“Yeah, yeah you can.”

Adam switched on the radio, but the moment he heard “Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in…” he had to turn it off.Even the music was making fun of him.

He wondered what in God’s name was wrong with his father, how he could do those things, and _why_? A part of Adam still hoped Iris was lying, but he knew in his soul that she was not.Also, he had to go back home to his lying mother.That pit in his stomach only felt more clenched.

After six whole hours, it was late at night by the point they reentered the Empire State, though it hadn’t seemed that long while driving.Then again, trips back always feel shorter than the trips to the destination.

Or maybe it was simply the fraught silence and tension between the two passengers.

Adam watched the dark silhouettes of thick forests pass by, increasingly covering the starry night along with small mountain and hill caps.

The city, of course, was still wide awake—noisy and bright and moving.Perhaps Christina was right on when she assigned insomniac Travis to patron god of The City That Never Sleeps, even if he claimed to hate said city with the passion of a thousand suns.Perhaps she was totally wrong, or, _perhaps,_ we hate that which reflects us.

Either way, it’s just all bullshit trying to be deep, Travis concluded.

There was a special garage where Travis kept his car, with its own locked room.It was a short walk back to the apartments.

Adam didn’t say much as he left for his apartment hall, only a hardy thank you to Travis for offering to take him.Travis, meanwhile, was quite tired, and dragged his feet up the steep stone stairs.He stopped when he saw his door.

The door, the one he locked with much difficultly, was cracked open, and the locks were missing.

Travis ran to look at it and saw through the crack the locks on the floor.He swallowed, and edged his hand around the door knob top to open it more. 

The door made a whining sound in the pin-drop quietness of the dark hallway.Travis paused, as if to assess any more sounds or sights that could be threatening before he entered—he was holding his breath but his heart was restless.

He turned on the light.

Some things looked the same as he left them.Other things, such as his pots and plates, were in disarray or broken.The pile of folded laundry he had on his bed was knocked down.Two of his drawers were open.The mirror had a crack in it, and on the ground was a horse figurine he didn’t recognize.

Travis tried to investigate, picking up the things with the tips of his fingers and examining for prints before putting them away.He checked the stove and toaster—off.Good.The TV—off.

He was surprised, because he figured if he was robbed the TV would be the first to go.

But his safe was fine, his hidden objects were still hidden, his food was still there, and his weapons were untouched.

Travis felt anger bubbling up, along with a seething hatred for thieves and criminals.

“How did the shit-eatin bastards even get in here?” He muttered.He locked it in a complex way for this very reason.

He threw the horse in a cardboard box with other useless knick-knacks.Curious.Maybe it could be used as potential evidence for this break-in.

Just to be sure, he walked back down the steps to check for any more movement.There was a brick wall at the end of the steps that he eased into.He jumped back about a foot when a gunshot hit close.It sounded close enough to be inside, but it was probably outside.

Travis’s racing heart now stopped for a moment.He tried to make his exit but something had caught his pant leg.A bear trap was clinched onto his tan slacks, apparently aiming for his leg or foot.

As he attempted to rip it off another loud gunshot rang out.His pace was at super-speed now as he finally managed to yank it off, ripping that bottom hem of his pants off in the process.He ran back upstairs to the sound of two more gunshots, but he forgot he closed (and, apparently, locked) his door coming out.“God damn you,” he whispered to his own door.

More like it locked by itself.

He tried to feel over his body or look around to find any possible weapon he could use.He clenched his fists to prepare for anyone who came close, but the panic was underlying.

Footsteps were heard around the bottom of the stairs.There was a buzzing lightbulb somewhere.Travis backed up, as he had nowhere to hide.His instincts to try to take down the threat even if he has to die for it set in.Fight replaced flight rather quickly, but he still prayed no one would see him and they would just leave.

His prayer was answered.

There was a pause until the footsteps left and a door closed.The gunshots had stopped as well.

Travis rushed back to the door, kicked it repeatedly until it came open, and soon shut it tight and replaced the locks.He had an uneasy time unpacking and setting everything back to order.He tore up some bread and ate it while attempting to glue back the dishes.

Sleep came in and out like a chilly storm wind.He had a headache when he had enough and got up.

———————————————

“When you stare into the rotting pumpkin abyss, it stares right back at you.”

Betsy laughed at Tom’s nihilist joke:“I don’t think that’s how that phrase goes.”

“Whatever.It’s a paraphrase.It’s close enough.”

The “abyss” these two were gazing at, were, literally, rotten pumpkins.The one Betsy had carved was of Minnie Mouse, now decrepit.Tom carved Mickey Mouse into his, now all moldy and black.They were from Halloween and had been preserved all the way into this shivering late November morning in upstate New York.They carved it at Palantine headquarters and Betsy took them with her as she left on her break to her family home for Thanksgiving—they were too cute.She had salted them and everything.

Tom drove in that morning to take Betsy back to the grind.They threw out their creations in the woods together after a quick breakfast.Even with its warped, disturbing face it was clear Betsy was the better pumpkin carver.

“I have more practice,” she said, “I loved Halloween as a kid.”

Tom was used to being the lesser of pretty much anything.That was just his life.

Tom ran over to stomp on his pumpkin.“Come on Bets, join me in Tommy’s anger management technique.”

“Ick, no.”Betsy thought Tom was weird sometimes.

“Come on, it’s fun.We still have some time, we can clean our shoes and go after this.”

Betsy sighed.She went inside to take off her heels and put on old snow boots. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” Tom laughed as Betsy tried to destroy her work.

“I’m surprised you even listened to me and did it.Somehow I don’t see you as the squash-stumping type.”

“Oh please.I can be an outdoors-woman when I want to be.You forget that I used to be a tennis player and that I garden,” Betsy huffed.“Politics is the dirtiest job there is.I’m used to dirtiness.”This was all said as she wore very clean, ironed clothes.

“You know, we should’ve saved the pumpkin seeds to bake them,” Tom commented.

“How do you bake pumpkin seeds? Did Grandma teach you that?” Betsy snorted.

“Bubbie teaches me all kinds of cooking.You just pop those babies into the oven, maybe sprinkle some spice or cinnamon on em, and voila! Baked pumpkins seeds that taste like chips.”

“You should teach _me_ some of that cooking skill.”

“Geez Betsy, you still can’t cook? You’re a grown woman.”

“I know, but…it’s _hard_.” Betsy smiled.

“Maybe I can come over to your apartment sometime and help you,” Tom regretted saying that after it came out.“You definitely could, but don’t burn it down in the process, Tom.”

After washing their feet, they finally departed for the ride back to the government circus.

When it was first announced Palantine had lost the Democratic presidential candidacy to now-elected president Jimmy Carter, the staff heard first way before news and TV, and most thought their jobs were in the balance or going to be demoted or moved somehow. 

At least it wasn’t Gerald Ford as president again, they thought.The klutzy Republican ditz (or so they saw him) that Saturday Night Live and Chevy Chase even ripped on.Still, they worried. 

The new building was afresh with workers and movement today, however.Tom and Betsy exchanged words before they found their corners.Even if he was out of the race, Palantine’s projects for helping the city were still in the works.Betsy looked over several schedules, where the plans were addressed.Of course, everything was convoluted and poorly written because of bureaucratic red tape.

Betsy, frustrated, grabbed her notebook where she had written down the top agendas: welfare reform, education reform, medical assistance, environmental improvements, easing racial tensions, pay equality for women, economic recovery methods, childcare, healthcare, assistance for the poor, veterans, and homeless, and defunding of the military with possible funding of space technology.

The more she thought about it, the more items were added to the list.There was so much that could be done in one city, much less the country.She also pulled out forms, where she was looking over a request from a gay friend she had to marry his partner directed to the city’s lawmakers.Personally, she approved.There was still much to be done on that issue, too, and Betsy knew they were still an oppressed group, even in the more gay-friendly New York clubs. 

All just because they found love in a typical world.At least that man from California, Harvey Milk, may be trying to do something from reports she heard.

Betsy sighed and stretched out her fingers.So much to think about, so much to do.

Another form she had to sign for a campaign worker, and his name was Trevor.When she tried to write it down, however, she wrote “Travis.”She immediately erased it.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Something about Travis stuck in her psyche.She never did hear anymore about that rundown neighborhood where they found the bodies; the neighborhood Travis said he visited.It didn’t affect her view on him, at least she knew he wasn’t a liar.It was more so her own mind she doubted at times. 

Travis was a complicated man, but her guilt over how she had treated him was not going away.His heart was probably in the right place, even if he did behave in ways she simply could not tolerate towards her.She wasn’t all over him or anything, they had a tense past and relationship, but maybe…maybe now she had just a little crush on him.She couldn’t deny it anymore. 

Suddenly, the door swung open and secret service entered.They were met with a surprise.

Charles Palantine!

When he finally stepped in, he announced, “Hello everyone! I’m sure you weren’t expecting this, but I’ve come all the way from home to see how my biggest supporters are doing in this tough time.I know it may feel like a failure, but I assure you, this is only the beginning. I appreciate your hard work, and I’m glad to visit Manhattan again.”

Everyone clapped, in awe.His wife was right behind him.It was rarer for her to be here.

People immediately came to his service, asking him questions both professional and friendly.“Let’s give the senator some space,” the tall blonde agent, Regis Orville, advised.“Now Regis, let me see my people,” Palantine grinned.

Betsy stood up and straightened her shirt and hair.She shook his hand when he stopped by her desk.

“Good day, Betsy.It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“You too, sir, you too.What made you come back?” Whoops, he already said why when he came in.

“Well, I have to see what’s been going on behind my campaign with my own eyes!”

Betsy felt a bit nervous.She hoped there wasn’t a mistake she had made, and Palantine knew somehow. _I don’t make mistakes._

She always did have a tiny crush on Senator Palantine too.

His wife was very friendly, and met with many of the employees to get a better grasp on them.She was always so fashionable, with the perfect hair and color coordinations.Everything she did was graceful.She probably never made a single mistake.

It wasn’t long before they took the elevator upstairs to his specialized office for when he came.As soon as he left, whisperings and chatter started up, mostly over he and his wife— _especially_ the wife.

“Oh I love that color on her.”

“I like her more than Charles, honestly.”

“I wonder what made her finally tag along?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“She seems so smart.”

“She’s riding on her husband’s coattails.”

“Mrs. Palantine for president!”

Betsy tried to drown out the nosiness to focus back on the issues at hand, but the Palantine visit and the Travis name incident had already reshuffled her concentration. 

“Betsy, come look at this,” a man called her over to examine something strange on a paper.

It was an undocumented report that extremely important files to Palantine’s campaign, donations, and personal information may, possibly, be missing.

“Fuck, what if it’s true?” Her coworker pondered. 

“It’s not, it can’t be. But…but leave it out anyway so someone else can look at it.”

“Yeah, let’s get advice from our resident bottle blonde ditz,” said Sandra, an older woman who always appeared to be jealous of Betsy.

“You know what—I don’t care.Do you have much else to do in your life other than put down others, Sandra?” Betsy stood tall in front of the sitting Sandra with hands on her hips.

“Do you have much else to do other than chirp and look pretty while the rest of us toil, Betsy?”

“Excuse me? I’ve been one of the hardest workers and most dedicated supporters of this campaign. Remember that while you’re gossiping and filing your little, little Korean-made nails as the state of the country hangs in the balance.“

“I just think you’re incompetent, that’s all.You haven’t returned those reports to me and it’s been _three weeks_.”

“Well if you don’t like me…”

“I don’t,” Sandra smiled.

“If you don’t like me, you can move upstairs.I have no time for this pettiness today.” A few people oohed.

“Do you hear me? No time!” She snapped to the women around Sandra.“Let me look at those files again…God dammit.” A few snickered.

The collective passive-aggression had finally come to a boil among Betsy and her tired, dejected coworkers.She found a new viciousness she didn’t know she had, but if she had to take charge, she would.

She was still absolutely dedicated to this cause, elections be damned.Someone had to make their voice heard in this system, so the rest may make their voice heard in their own democracy.Topics remained close in her mind: global cooling, civil rights, NATO, protecting the middle class, and stagflation.They were all there…none had magically left the world with a new president in place.Everyone was in this dull malaise and needed a jolt of awakening, Betsy thought, or nothing would get done and things would only spiral further down.

And it had little to do with parties, because both were lacking.However, Betsy at least took some pride in her Democrat background.Betsy thought that the great thing about Democrats was they actually made real efforts to care about the people.That’s why “We the People,” was such a good slogan in her opinion.Her parents were a little more traditionally minded, but she was always the one to think outside the box.She valued her parents’ emphasis on morals anda few aspects of conservatism, but she remained a suffragette.

“Miss Priss” people called her.“Always so clean and perfect.”Even “boring.”

And, it was kind of true.She was very clean, and she could be a bit of a perfectionist at times.

But boring? Not in her world.She was fun.She was quite fun—she stomped on a pumpkin this morning!No, Betsy may just be the “uncool” one.She slouched back in her chair.

“Oh Bets,” she sighed to herself, “you need to upgrade.”Maybe it was not only her, though.Maybe everyone else needed upgrading too.She was one with the world and the world was one with her.It was her dream since she was a little girl to be important, and to contribute.She wanted to be either a mayor or a Peace Corps worker.

But she had no qualities to lead, she suspected, only to prop up others.Her own intelligence felt wasted on her own gentility, and she knew she was made of the thinnest white paper, not stone.Although the childlike thoughts and wishes persisted.What if she did become a strong, female politician in her own right?

Dreams.Nothing but wistful dreams too far away to catch.Not in this world, not in this body.

Betsy put on her glasses to read a book on overspending.She pushed her headband up, making sure every thick hair was in place.

“Betsy? Is there a Betsy down here?” A man in a tux with a special ID called into the lower office.

Betsy hardly heard it the first time, thinking it was her imagination.By the second time, she rushed up and the chair made that loud creaking sound across the linoleum floor that alerted everyone of her movement.“Uh, present,” she raised her hand.

“Betsy?”

“Yes?”

“The Senator would like to speak with you, one-on-one.It’s important.”

It sounded important.Betsy was nervous and excited as she grabbed her notepad and pencil and briskly walked into the elevator.The sound of it was the only thing that could drown out the low heart beat in her chest, all mixed up with her shallow abdominal organs.Palantine needed to speak to _her_.One-on-one, the man said.This same man was standing next to her and they shared a wooden smile out of courtesy.

The glorious glass windows of the upper floor lit the long hallway and welcomed Betsy.The air from the vents only elevated her goosebumps.

The ID-badged man stopped at a door with a gold-plated name.“Here we go, after you.”

“Ah, there she is.Hello again, Betsy.”

Betsy stood frozen in front of the senator.“Hello again, sir.You um, you rang? Heh.”

“Yes ma’am I did.I have a special mission just for you, Betsy.”

Betsy straightened her top.“Oh…oh. Oh.” _Stop saying oh, you nitwit._

“P. Q, R, S, T, U, V…” Palantine finished.

Betsy nervously giggled.Palantine nodded to the man and Mrs. Palatine that they may leave.Only a few Secret Service stayed, and their presence did not help with Betsy’s nerves.They never did.

To make matters worse, Mrs. Palantine looked at her a little strangely before smiling and leaving.Betsy furrowed her brows.

After that glimpse of good humor, Charles Palantine was extremely worried, and turned to Betsy with stressed, overtired eyes.

——————————————

Before Betsy entered, Palantine had settled into his new office and immediately began catching up with local and campaign-related events with the help of advisors.Mrs. Palantine had gone to the recreation room to get coffee, Charles’ most trusted Secret Service agent, the towering Orville, in tow.

The sheer amount of messes that resulted from the election loss had caused the organization a panic.Palantine was becoming increasingly stressed with every new report.He should have come a lot sooner.

By the time his wife came back up to check on him, she saw the papers in a mess and his forehead creased by his two fingers.

“What’s going on, Charlie?” She sensed it on instinct.He trusted her with everything and the two had each other’s backs, always.

“A lot.A whole damn lot, Val.”

She sat in a chair across from him while sipping her cup.“Talk to me.Is it an emergency? Are we finished?”

“No, no not that serious.But a _lot_.”

He spoke to his wife in complete earnest fashion.She listened to him with great intent, and offered advice now and then.

“We’re going to make it, Charlie.We _always_ make it.”

“I don’t know, Val.We’ve come this far…for what? This city is going to need a lot more than me and my plans that are always gridlocked by all these lawmakers.I mean, I walk around it even for a half hour and I see the carnage still left.It’s awful, Val, because I see its vibrant spirit, too.I see hope.

I want to think it will end in a few years: infrastructure and community and morality will all improve.Yet then I also see a haunting future ahead if it only deescalates, a future of urban rottenness…some places are neat, a good clean city, and then there are parts at the level of a third world country! I’m serious.The mayor refuses to listen to me, and now the people have spoken.I fought for them, and they spoke for me, I guess.The people have spoken.”

“Oh don’t be so naive, Charles.This is not a direct democracy; they’ll realize their mistakes soon enough.You have to remain positive and see the good parts.They’ll come around when they want change, real change.Until then, I believe the New Yorkers are a tough people and will get to where they need to be eventually.And you’re right—not everywhere is bad.I had the most delightful time on Broadway yesterday.”

“Good for you,” Charles said with a small smile.How many others could say that? Though he knew his wife was mostly in the right.

He hesitated to admit to her that it was not only the campaign causing him so much grief: it was the anniversary of the birth, and death, of their son.“You know what today is…”

“I know,” Valerie quipped, a little too fast.“I thought about it this morning…it’s alright to think about it, Charlie.”She sniffled and had to pull out a handkerchief.“I do…every year, I do.”

Charles and Valerie Corden Palantine were married many years ago, when they were still young and unbothered by the world they now gorged themselves in.He was the handsome student body president and champ wrestler—she was the attractive auburn-haired girl next door.Your typical high school sweetheart story.She made the first move, and he fell hard for her.He wanted to impress everyone, but especially Valerie.

They had a bad breakup after Valerie realized she wasn’t alone in his mind.When you get with a world-changer, you have to share them with the world.

They met again after college, and found that their love was still strong.He proposed on a balcony, and almost fell off!

After marriage, Valerie wanted to settle down with a family but Charles wanted to pursue politics and the public sector.Valerie agreed, as long as she got to be a part of it.Charles did more than that—he moved them to Washington, D.C.!

Valerie struggled there, but Charles was right at home.He worked his way up in different government jobs, as did Valerie.They both had a natural talent for it, and supported the other against the dirty plays of government.Eventually, after they earned enough money to be comfortable, Charles was ready for more in his own life.

Valerie loved being a working woman, but she still held that lifelong dream of having at least one child.Charles thought she’d make a great mother, and they tried.And tried.And tried some more.They had some natural talents in the bedroom, as well.Everything had gone so well; the perfect couple.

However, they talked too soon.

Valerie suffered two miscarriages.It stunned her.She learned at the gynecologist that she may have an infertility issue, but it was most likely just stress, and they could still try.

So they did.The third time around, she was pregnant and carrying a healthy baby. 

At around 7 months, however, Valerie felt a terrible twisting pain in her workplace, that caused her to lean on a shelf and knock off important things on it.No one was around to help her.

She called 911 and at the hospital learned that something happened in the womb.The baby’s vitals were checked and…nothing.

She had a stillbirth and was induced not too long later.It was a boy that looked just like Charles, and was still beautiful to Valerie even then in her arms.He was buried in a Baltimore burial plot in a little coffin.His grave was adorned by the flowers of family and Palatine supporters and coworkers alike.Valerie was touched, but she went into a deep depression.

Charles was furious at the doctors after finding out that, indeed, Valerie had reproductive issues and a rare negative blood type that could kill fetuses unless she received a special injection.Somehow, they missed this, and now they felt lost, _a_ loss.Their political careers were eventful, gaining tract, but there was loss. 

Eventually though, it healed.It was slow healing, but they found their footing again.Charles was elected as a Representative for Maine, and Valerie had owned a law firm.With the amount of money they had now, they were able to adopt.They adopted a boy and a girl, and the boy was now engaged and the girl was graduating college.Their parents, while famous and powerful, were proud.

Since then, Valerie was dedicated to the plight of orphans, especially the sheer amount of American children still homeless, starving, or in foster homes.The children who had to live in abuse shelters or go from bad home to worse home.Because of her losses, some were surprised and even objected when she backed current and now lame duck first lady Betty Ford’s stance on pro-choice, but Valerie and Charles no longer cared if their viewpoints were offensive, as long as they got the backing.

The last campaign was drawn out but the most exciting yet, as Charles Palantine rose to the ranks of presidential candidacy and became a household name.New York City, he found, was very accommodating to him and welcomed all of his visits.

The only thing: he had more Secret Service around him than ever.The last time he visited, there was an apparent attempt on his life.For a brief moment, he met eyes with the man of suspect. 

He looked so familiar, Charles almost felt betrayal without realizing who his assailant was.

So it was no wonder he was especially on edge on this visit, what with all that piled up on him.

They took a good while sitting, in their own form of mourning.But Valerie decided to put it away and get back to business, and Charles returned to the city.

“They need help,” he continued, “before they all die out from wallowing in their own filth.”An economic comeback was the most important thing to him, as far as this state went.Something needed to poke it back to life, and get the market stimulated again.

“Charlie,” his wife shook her head.“Do I need to come over there and give you a rub?”

“You can.”

She grinned and soon put her soft fingers with the magenta fingernails on his shoulders.She rubbed him and he groaned.“You’ve got knots.”

“And that’s just in my body!” He groaned louder.“Sorry,” she said.

“What are we gonna do, Val?” The senator sighed.

“You know, I know what might help with that stress of yours…maybe you need a break, and I’ll help you feel better, dear Senator…much better.”

Charles smiled: “Ooh, it’s been a while.”

“Mhmm. But something about this city…puts me in the mood.” She gripped his shoulders and he was at her mercy.“Then feel free to take care of me, Nurse Palantine.” They kissed.The thought of their nice room, room service, that big bed, and chocolate-covered fruit waiting for later put Charles in a bit of a mood, too.

The moment was ruined by the harsh ring of the desk telephone.“Damn,” he breathed, “what is it?” He picked it up and Valerie sat back down.

“U.S. Senator Charles Palantine, may I ask who’s calling?”

Charles went into a long chat with the line, saying “Mm,” and “Right,” here and there, but was unusually silent otherwise.Valerie was concerned: he wasn’t even using his fake laugh.

His eyes were becoming larger until they resembled saucers.He walked around twirling the line on his finger.“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“My God.”

“You’re sure???”

“Alright, I understand.I’ll uh, I’ll get back to you on this, and most definitely keep looking into it and keep me informed with every new detail.Alright, thank you.Goodbye.”

Charles slowly hung up and his his face fell into his hands.“How…fucking how…”

He cursed.Valerie jumped up: “Goodness, Charlie, what was that about? Tell me!”

“Shit,” he heaved.“How..”

“What is it??”

“Val, the most important files on my campaign and plans were reportedly stolen from the state archives.”

She put her hand over her mouth.“How?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.They said it was just…gone.All gone.”

“Did they look in the-“

“They looked everywhere.They have the police on it right now—my whole team is in a flurry about this.Heaven’s sake….they should’ve had more security! Who breaks into the archives?”

“Charles, those files have everything… _everything_ on us.” She gulped.

“I know sweetheart, I know. “

“When was it broken into? Today? Last night?”

“August.”

She nearly spat out her coffee.“ _This_ August? As in fucking three months ago or more?”

“Yep.They only now confirmed it, but the investigation has been going on under my nose this whole time.”

“Silly, bungling bastards. _Bastards_.”

“We’ll get it all back, Val,” he tried to assure both she and himself.But his body and mind were in shock trying to collect the pieces.Maybe he wouldn’t have been a good president after all, with that amount of constant pressure.It was like Nixon was back in office and breaking into Palantine headquarters this time around.Who in the world would, or could do that?

—————————————

Betsy couldn’t stop staring at the trashcan while Palantine informed her in hushed tones, and warned her to secrecy.Perhaps she needed to vomit and the trashcan was enticing.

She thought Palantine was running for mayor or something, and she was in charge of advertisement and fundraisers again.Nope.

“Betsy, I know this is a good deal to take in.Trust me, I know.But—first thing’s first—how do you feel about Carter?”

“S-sir? Um, well, he’s not officially president yet, but I suppose that I hope Carter does well on environment, gas, and foreign policy, like he promised.”

“Good answer.This is why I chose you, Betsy.You take things the most seriously over all these bags of rocks.”

“Wow sir, heh, thank you.”

“Now, back to business: I need to have your utmost assurance that you will do exactly what I say, exactly how I say it, and do not tell a soul.”

“You have my word, sir.Honest.”

“I need you to go on several errands today; you’re excused from your paper work.I’d have a team for this, but I think this is far too delicate, so I must have _one_ person I can trust.I need you to first stop at the state archives to be sure that the investigation is in progress.Then I want you to go to our law firm and check in with my lawyer to arrange this matter.Then, call my state headquarters for support and more resources.You will also need to talk to the bank for financial settlement and the police office to confirm the archival status.Finally-“

Betsy was exhausted listening to that.“-since I care about the common people, I should know what they eat.Go get me a cup of frozen yogurt please, I don’t care where from….I have a craving.”

“Can you handle it?”

“I believe I can.”

“Can. You. Handle. It?”

“Yes sir.”

“Great.You’re a wonder, Miss Betsy.Go on and you’ll get a paycheck that’ll make your mouth water.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you sir.”

“We’re gonna bounce back.Thank you Betsy,” he winked, and she felt her cheeks warm up.

“You’re welcome!” She turned to leave, and then turned back to say, “You know, I was actually just looking at a file downstairs of-“

“Thank you, Betsy.”

“Right,” she left, and Valerie was still eyeing her.

Tom ran into her and asked where she was going.“I’m on a mission,” she said.

“If you should just choose to accept it,” he chuckled, “what kind of mission?”

“One I can’t tell you, so beat it Curly.”

“Oh come on, B.Who the hell am I going to tell it to? I don’t have any friends.”

“I’m your friend.”

“Yeah that’s the proble-nevermind.”

Betsy raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a downtown mission.That’s all I’ll say.”

“When you’re alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go…” Tom sang.

“Downtown!” Betsy joined in and they laughed.

“No,” Betsy waved a hand in her face to look stern.“This is serious.I have to go, excuse me.”

“God woman, you are a powerhouse,” Tom said.

“This ‘woman’ has a name.”

“Fine. Elizabeth.”

“Damn right, Elizabeth.A name fit for Bible characters and Queens of England.”

She left with a flourish, and Tom shook his head.Boy did he love her more every day in the years they’ve grown together—every day by each other’s side in both the realism and the weirdness of the political life.They were the only cures for the other’s sanity.

 _I shouldn’t have brought it up_ , Betsy thought with disapproval already. _I trust Tom though._

She had to take a deep breath before taking this long journey—as if Gilgamesh’s journey had to be completed in one day.She had no idea why Palantine was so intent on having her carry all this responsibility, it’s not like she was that important.But she would do it, regardless.This was her chocolate milk-drinking little girl dream right?Plus, she would always support Palantine no matter what.He was like the modern day Robin Hood.

There was also that wink, and that look from Mrs. Palantine…

She felt like an undercover black-ops agent.She wasn’t going to be the boring goody two-shoes anymore.

The archives were frantic when she arrived in her car.There was hardly anyone to talk to her, and many were on the phone in rapid speech and running around the place.

“Can I help you?” A clerk asked.

“Yes, I need to know about Pala-“

“The files? Yeah, we’re on it.They’ve been stolen, for sure, and we are doing all we can right now to see if we can recover them.Sorry, I can’t do much else for you.”

“No that’s fine.”

So that was that.

Next stop—the bank.

The Manhattan bank was as show-off-y as it prided itself to be.The ornate building and marble was enough to prove that.The workers were stuffy, as well. 

Banks could intimidate Betsy, but today she stood tall.She showed her credentials and ID to let them know she was a legitimate part of his campaign.

The bank clerk listened to everything she said with a gruff face and half-moon glasses over his nose.“We are surely aware of the senator’s position, and his funds are still half-frozen in some places.”

“Frozen?”

“Yes ma’am.Transactions have been quite inactive lately compared to his first investments here.We got a call about, ehh, a few months ago, I’d say.Potentially suspicious things were detected in the account and I suppose his team put a wavering halt to it.Then again, he’s had backed up debt for quite a while.”

Betsy was surprised to hear that.Palantine seemed more responsible, and he obviously was getting his money from more than just charities. 

“So you’re saying that funds that have been funneled have just been…floating into space? I would assume it’s going to something now that he’s lost.The Federal Election Commission dictates these sorts of things.”He must be saving it for the next presidential race, she thought.

“I am afraid I cannot tell you anymore than that.”

“Thanks for your time,” she moved to let the pushy person behind her get to the front.

The floor was so richly made and clear the homeless and hungry could eat off of it.It sickened Betsy to have her own heels walk on it.

On her way to the law firm, she drove by the old headquarters near Broadway for a moment.So many memories in one building.Times seemed simpler then, even if it was actually crazier during the election.Memories of Tom making her laugh…and….Travis.

She entered the law offices, where a secretary on the phone gestured her to a seat.

The sharp-dressed young man came out to greet her.“Are you the staffer Palantine told me was coming?”

“Yes sir, my name is Betsy and I have the task of getting information about this file robbery.May we speak?”

“Of course.I’m Howard Nicholson, attorney at law for high-profile political figures, including Charles.”They stepped into a large room with a globe and large bookcases of hardy law books.A bronze scale decorated his desk.

Nicholson flipped through a report.“I feel that this is not a case that can be handled right away; it still appears to be in progress and I’m going to need to see more backup for how this is being handled.If the media gets a hold of it…”

“That’s what we’re trying our best to do right now, with all due respect Mr. Nicholson.”

“I see that.But I certainly see the carelessness here…or Charles would not have been in this situation in the first place.”

Betsy couldn’t help the protectiveness that came out of her, though she wasn’t sure if it was protection of Palantine or herself: “I think we’re being quite responsible considering we only just now got wind of this.”

“By sending one person to handle it?”

Betsy’s face grew hotter. 

“Look, I’ll talk more to Charles about it when I can.Currently, I have a run for the federal court to look forward to.”Ah-hah.So Palantine must have promised him that position and now he was riled.“And a meeting with the attorney general.”

“But you’re still on the case, right?”

“Considering the sensitive information in those files…I have to be.”

“What kind of sensitive information?”

“If he hasn’t told you yet, then you probably don’t want to know, Betsy,” and then he ominously returned to his briefcase.

Betsy had to have a smoke break outside after that.She pushed up on her headband which was sliding down.Her hair felt like it was beginning to frizz in the moist, cold air of the cloudy grey weather. It annoyed her to no end when any hair was out of place, and her thoughts seemed to frizz along with it.This was beginning to feel less like a privilege and more like a peek into the rotting pumpkin abyss of her own job.What was Palantine not saying?

The police headquarters were also in a bustle.Several cops were in house instead of out on duty today, apparently.The NYPD welcomed her anyways.

“Anything for such a pretty lady,” one man in badge said to her.He referred her to their chief officer for this case, who raced to it faster than any lawyer did: Josiah Elmers.She had heard of him before, but couldn’t remember when.Officer Elmers led her outside so they could talk in privacy on an outside table in a deli across the street on that avenue.He kept checking around even as his attention was on her.

“Tell me whatever you have, Elmers.I have to get this to the senator.”

“Alrighty then, Miss, I’ll tell you.As long as you’re ready to hear it.Back in early August of this year, we had a call from someone who worked at the archives, I believe it was Frank North.He told us that they had evidence of a break-in and files may be missing.The sheriff told us to get on it, and soon a detective tried to look for fingerprints…the prints came back to a man…a _dead_ man.”

Betsy’s sky blue eyes opened.“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.Of course, we’re all thinkin, this can’t possibly be right.The investigation died out sometime after that, I guess we had other things to worry about.But a little story in the local news did cover it, it just never broke out beyond that.About last month, we get another call that the files were recovered.Turns out, it wasn’t the right file.So the investigation kicks up again.However, the person who claimed to have found this right-then-false file, said it detailed illegal funding, as well as contributions from a crime organization, a New England banker, a fellow candidate, and possible drug and human trafficking…coming from this inner city.” He pointed around them.

Betsy blinked while sputtering, “No…no there’s no way.There’s just no way.You want to sit here and tell me Palantine is-is involved with…with _that_??”

“We have no way to know for sure, but like I said, this guy was proven to be a quack about most of his accusations.”

“And who is this quack, again? Do you mind giving me his name?” Betsy was both furious and confused now and her pencil tip almost broke on the notepad.

“Nope, I can’t.Not my job.”

“But-but, you told me everything else!”

“Yes, but this is more undercover, you could say.We don’t get all the information all the time, ma’am.In the government’s eyes…we are on the lower part of the food chain.To serve and protect…heh, yeah, sure.To serve and protect those who need it most—the corrupted.”

Betsy’s eyes darted from him to the notepad to the people who just walked by.“And we have to sit here and wait while this ‘blows over’ then? Bull.The media cannot and I mean cannot do any more on this, Josiah.Tell me the name.”

“Ma’am-“

“Tell me. Please, Officer Elmers.”

“I told you, I can’t.Trust me, I’m as iffy about this as you.I don’t know if some damn black helicopters and hitmen will come after me if I even spill a bit too much.It’s a quagmire, madam, and I can’t do shit about it until they allow me to.Pfft, allow me.I should be running this whole thing.Like I said, I understand your frustrations.But these politicians….I don’t know.Go ahead, think that I’m pulling your leg, but I’m telling you more of the truth than those you work for, best believe it.”

Betsy shook her head, and scribbled something in the notepad.“This has to be a big misunderstanding.It has to be.Someone’s lying.”

“Hey, it’s not me.I’m just doing my job as the top officer this city has to offer.And a black one, at that,” he smiled proudly.Betsy didn’t even pay attention to his race.

“I’ll fucking quit if this all proves in vain—if I work for a lie.Excuse my language, but it’s true.”

Officer Elmers laughed at her.“Oh I’ve heard worse, honey.It doesn’t mean you’re disloyal, thinking that, it means you have principle.You have a moral guideline, a compass.”

“Thanks for saying that, you know I think so too.”

“You know what’s wrong with a moral compass?” He suddenly leaned in to whisper, “in the world we work in, it’s respectable at best.At worst, it’ll get you killed even faster.”

Betsy frowned and pushed up her headband again, moving a stray hair out of her face.“I’m not naive.”

“I never said you were.”

She yanked the hair again with a frustrated sigh.“Thank you, Officer.”

“No problem.Good luck, rookie.Tell the senator I said hi.”

She nodded, and went on to walk the streets until she used a telephone to call Tom.

Tom, for the whole day, had been answering call after call made to the headquarters.Everyone from news personnel to donors to citizens were weighing in on what to do about the electoral loss.People were angry; they were sad, they were puzzled, and they had a hell of a lot to say to workers like Tom.His voice was becoming hoarse.He never enjoyed this particular part of his job, but he liked to think he had enough charm to win them over…eventually.

“I know Mrs. Putz, we’re on it…yes I know…ok…yes.”

“I understand, yes.”

“Thank you for your endless support, mister. We will continue to fight for the people.” _Dick._

He hung up and rubbed his eyes.He needed his Bubbie on the phone to straighten these people out.He remembered that when he was younger his family would often go to the Russo family’s house on their block and eat dinner.What happened to that level of civility among humans these days?

He gazed at the picture on his desk of the Grand Canyon, cut out from a magazine:“One day, one day.”

Tom had a strong desire to travel in general, but right now a vacation to somewhere warm and freer of people was especially appetizing. 

The phone rang again.He let it ring a few times and then forced himself to answer it after carelessly spinning in his chair.It was Betsy, and she didn’t sound so good.

“Hey—Betsy, it’s hard to hear you.Tell it to me again.”

Betsy said nothing of the case itself—only that Palantine needed to be informed right away that he had tons of calls from serious figures about to come in. 

“Tom, what were the numbers for the Maine site again?”He told her, and she abruptly hung up.Tom shrugged and went upstairs to tell Palantine.He wasn’t as nervous as Betsy about it, but it still gave him chills to face the senator.

“Thank you, Tom.You and Betsy are a good team,” he had said.Tom liked those words in more than one way.

Betsy dialed the numbers, messing up the first time.Her hair was more frazzled and her fingers felt wobbly.She forgot she never ate anything all day since breakfast—but her job was more important at this point.

The Maine site was the calmest so far, and they asked how the senator was enjoying New York.Betsy was the one acting more and more snippy, hoping they get serious and asking for the needed supplies in the coming midterms.She scratched under the headband and finally took off the shoe that was rubbing a hole in her ankle.

She decided to go to the store while she was already out.She needed things for herself, too.Sometimes she forgot about herself in the sea she fought to swim in everyday.

She went to her favorite little store, that sold many items for smaller prices.She tried to calm her racing thoughts with the scents and walls of candles.

Outside the store, a taxi stopped to drop off someone going to a club.The man was well-dressed with a bowtie, and paid his driver with an extra tip.“You deserve it, tiger.”

“…thanks. Have a good night.”Travis glared at his passenger through the driver’s window.Anyone dressed like that had to be a pimp from his view.The man tipped his sunglasses and winked.Travis wasn’t fully back to work again, but he did offer to take Wizard’s shift, since he had done so much for him while he was gone.He needed his clipboard back to go on with his job full-time.

After the man left, Travis whispered under his breath, “Fuckin pimps.”

He turned up the radio and went off-duty.A newscaster spoke: “Yesterday morning the remains of a missing young girl were found in Oyster Bay.Her body, found in parts, police say, was likely taken apart when she was still alive.The parents are now being questioned, but it’s unsure if…”

Travis’s grip tightened on the wheel.He hadn’t realized the heavy air coming out of his nostrils.

Turning off the radio, Travis got out to shop in the store. 

Betsy hoarded house utensils into her cart for no reason in her teetering thoughts.She dropped a plate, and it smashed on the floor.“Oh c’mon!”

A helper had to come over and pick it up as Betsy squirmed in embarrassment.What was worse, there was another customer who came over to look.It was none other than Travis Bickle.

“That’s funny,” he said, “the same thing happened to me last night.” He held up a new china plate. 

“Well…sorry you had to see that,” Betsy laughed with a weird, loud snort.

“Meh, it happens.” Travis tried to put his hand in his pocket and missed the pocket, so he had to shift his plate into another hand and use the other pocket.

“How’ve you been lately, Travis?”

“I get by.I just got back from a trip..to see a, uh, a friend.I’m out here enjoying my day…off,” he said it almost unnaturally.“I had to go the DMV earlier, nuff said.What about you?”

“I get by,” she smiled.“There’s always something new to stress me to the _max_.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.You can do anything.”

“Wow, thanks Travis.”

“I call it like I see it.I believe in ya, screw anyone else.”

She giggled again and tried to pat down her hair and straighten out her pants.Did she look bad? Was her makeup smudged? Suddenly she turned into a chocolate milk-drinking little girl again, but in a different way.Normally, she would be ashamed in herself for not acting like a normal person, but she was already in a whole other mood now.Travis’s soft voice and calmer mood put her at ease.

Travis was definitely looking at her, but it was almost…past her, at the same time.Betsy felt a tiny prick in her heart.He really did see her as a strict friend.

She didn’t know why this bothered her so much; she saw him as a friend too, and she knew she should be grateful he wasn’t so mad at her anymore, nor was she mad at him.But the sparkle probably emanating from her eyes wasn’t matched by his.

Betsy was a beautiful woman, but he couldn’t find anymore romantic feelings for her.The last time he did, it nearly destroyed him.He accepted his own loneliness by now, but he still wondered if Betsy was ever lonely, like he once told her she was.

“How is Palantine after losing?”

“He’s handling it well, I think,” Betsy was glad to talk about something other than the files.“We still work our asses off trying to get him back in the game, though.”

Travis looked disappointed that Palantine wasn’t quitting forever.

“Well uh, don’t let me stop you from shopping,” Betsy said.

“You’re not.I didn’t come here for a good deal.”

“What are you picking up next?”

“Something from the toy section,” Travis joked.At least, he hoped she would get it was a joke.

Betsy laughed in her light way.“I read a study recently that said some parents fear that there’s a secret plan to put recorders in toys, and use it to brainwash children into devil worship.I actually did.”Betsy never failed to find the wackiness in people, especially religious.She was raised in a Methodist family but always was a skeptic deep down.They didn’t seem to mind her agnostic leanings.She didn’t think a god was impossible; she just felt people were people, and had to handle themselves.

“Dammit, I knew it.The toys.These damn toys will send your kids to hell!” Travis waved his fist, and Betsy laughed again.He smiled along with her.

She tried to grab a bowl, and Travis put his hand out, “Let me help you with that.”

“Uh, I think I can carry a bowl, but thanks anyway.I promise I won’t drop anything this time.”

He still managed to touch her hand before pulling it away.Betsy was blushing and even Travis had a little color come back to his gaunt face.

They said their goodbyes and Betsy left, even more muddled with thoughts.Finally, in the dark grey sky, she felt the last chills of the outside as she reentered the building.She took out her notepad, and wrote everything she could still standing.

“Welcome back! What’s that you got?” Asked a coworker.

Betsy ignored him.

She found herself back into Palantine’s office, who was staying late.

She handed the notebook over: “I have potential bombshell evidence.”

Palantine read it and then looked back up at Betsy.“So it looks like we’re going to get more accusations then help in this situation.”

“Listen Senator…

I walked all over the city today and saw these people.I talked to their faces.I risked my career and integrity by questioning them and recording what they had to say.And this is just the _very tip_ of our sources and connections.How are you going to go up against them, much less the aristocracy, and claim this is all some mistake, and a boo-boo in need of a bandaid? How?”

“Betsy, I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but you and I both did what had to be done today.I suggest you don’t raise your voice at me.I’ve heard enough do it to me for the past 9 hours, do you understand?”

“Senator Palantine, I do understand, but we can’t sit here! If we don’t get this coordinated and pull everyone in immediately, the first whiff of trouble is going to attract the media and you, and all of us who have the pleasure of working for you, will be finished.A police officer told me at least one source already fucking KNOWS!! If they find out, you’ll have to cover your ass one way or another!”

“So we’ll take them to court, if we have to.”

“Take them to court? Take them to _court_? They’re part of it! We have to do this on our own!”

“Betsy, calm yourself,” his gentle voice became suddenly stern.

“Why though? Why are we pacing around waiting? What the hell was in those documents?”

“Sit down, Betsy,” Mrs. Palantine warned.The senator put his hand up to reassure his wife that Betsy was no threat.He said, “Betsy, that isn’t your concern.Thank you for your service today.”

“They knew, Palantine, they knew the files were gone and they never even told us!”

“Us? You mean me.”

“Human trafficking!” Palantine was stunned by her words. “Human beings, the selling of human beings.That’s what they said was a part of where we were getting our funds from last year, Senator.No one is telling anyone anything and we’re all going to shit for it!! I said it wasn’t true, but do you know how high the levels of prostitution, including FORCED, is in this city? The actual numbers, do you know them? How the Mafia deals in it too? Not to mention all the immigration…” her voice was wavering.

“I-I know, it’s-“

“It’s fucked, that’s what it is.Someone is going to need to tell the fucking truth already before we are _all_ doomed.” Her eyes were teary.“You told me…you told me that I took it seriously.I was proud of that.I admired you so much, and what I have seen today embarrasses not only me or you, but the ideology that you told us to stand on.And this is an ideological world, more so than a realist or liberal world.”

Mr. and Mrs. Palantine were both silent.“If you want to fire me, go ahead.But just know I did what you asked, and I’m trying to help.”

“Sorry…for my outburst, a-and…language,” she nodded like a lady and left before she could feel the burning heat any longer, and found herself in more trouble and embarrassment.

“Shit, the frozen yogurt,” she whispered.Rushing back to her car, she drove to the closest place she knew where to get some.

She waited in the drive thru line, impatiently tapping her nails on the wheel.She asked for the flavor she figured he’d like: “Man, I hate to telll ya this, but our machine is down,” the likely stoner voice on the other side informed.

Betsy’s hair was hardly recognizable now.She sharply swerved her head out the passenger window: “I JUST NEED SOME MOTHERFUCKING FROZEN YOGURT, NOW PLEASE.”

There was a radio silence.Betsy paused before answering in a slow, polite tone, “Oh, oh wow.I am so sorry,” she airy laughed again.“I don’t know where that came from..um, huh, it’s been a-a long day.”

“Same here,” he said.She settled on a fruit smoothie and returned to deliver the dessert to Charles Palantine.

“I couldn’t get the yogurt.I hope this is good.”

“Oh, I forgot about the yogurt! You didn’t have to get that, Betsy.”

“Trust me sir, it’s the least I can do.” And with that, she went back downstairs and collapsed into her chair, tired _as hell._ She had to weave through a bigger crowd of Secret Service that had arrived, and were giving her threatening vibes.

Right when she was at last at peace and ready to leave, Sandra had to speak up: “Since you never gave those reports back to me, I made some copies of my own.Pay no mind.”

“You what?”

“It’s just copies—they were easy to make, and faster than you for sure.”

She pursed her lips. “Those…those reports were supposed to be in one form only, with hand-written assurance that they were _not_ copied.”

Sandra tried not to seem worried, and someone stood up for her: “We didn’t know that, Betsy.You should’ve told us.” As if she were their babysitters.

“I’m going to have to gather an original form all over again…” she trailed off.

“Excuse my saying so, but you’re hair doesn’t look very good, dear.Take off that headband, it’s probably hurting your head even more,” Sandra nagged. 

Betsy stood up.“You’re right! Huh! Why didn’t I think of that!” She threw the headband across the wall, and it almost hit Tom in the face, who was just then coming down.

“And so the spoiled princess finally shows her true form!” Another woman exclaimed.

“Now listen here..” Betsy pointed her finger, “now is not the time for this.”

“You’ve been in and out all day…what are you even doing?” Another questioned her. 

“Obviously we can’t do a lot of shit without you…we’re struggling here.”

“Go tell mommy, then. Grow. Up.” Tom widened his eyes at this new Betsy he didn’t know.

“Wow, way to be hateful for no reason,” another chimed.

“I don’t hate you.I don’t hate anyone; it’s not in my blood to hate.I’m calling you out because you have it _coming_.”

Betsy had literally no idea what came over her, but she had totally, utterly snapped.All of her manners and subtle respect went out the window.She didn’t know if it was the Palantine thing, if it was Travis, if it was the repeated backlash coming from those who were supposed to be working by her side, or if it was simply her own mental health finally gone down the drain, but she had been driven to a point, feeling as worn as a nub.

Perhaps that was why she learned to like Travis so much—she had a lot more in common with him than she would have guessed.

Sandra made it worse, standing up and spitting: “Snobby little bitch! One day you’re gonna learn that the world doesn’t stop and bow for you, so best get it through your pretty, empty little bobblehead now.”

Betsy turned on her: “No, don’t you DARE start with me! Don’t you FUCKING MESS with me!”

Tom had no idea what to do and tried to get involved: bad idea.

“Maybe I’ll try and run around and play by myself all day, see what it’s like,” Sandra taunted.“And I’ll finish it with my own little smoothie too, oh how _hard_ it must be for you.”

“Oh you will, will you?”

“Yep, and I’ll actually finish the job.”

“You want to get in front of _my_ investigation? If you say so,” Betsy stepped to her and Tom pushed her back.“I think it’s time to go home, Bets.”

“Enough!” The sharp voice of Valerie Palantine broke the tensions. _On the day of my son’s birth._

It ended up being that Sandra would be fired, and Betsy would stay, though with much smaller responsibilities now.She was no longer allowed to enter Palantine’s office by herself.She and Tom were ordered home.“Gladly,” Tom said.

Betsy faced her office and said for the last time that day, “Sorry.”

She got a standing ovation as they walked out. 

“What an idiot,” Betsy continued about Sandra, and then the others:“Bitches.”

“Geesh, Betsy…just, geesh,” Tom muttered.

“Oh my God,” she shook her head.“I hope this day is a dream, I do.”She started feeling kind of bad for Sandra now, since she was fired.Maybe she was having a bad day as well.

“You still want to teach me cooking?”

“As long as you don’t bite my head off…”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” she smiled.

Palantine had another long road ahead of him, and he was dragging them all with him.


	21. The Met

Travis looked out his window, rubbing the crick in his neck.

He had pains ever since the night with gunshots and attempted robbery shenanigans.He didn’t know if he had pulled something during the process or if it was from the way he slept, but anything was fair game at this point.He was in his typical mode of isolation.

He glanced at the clock: 2:43 PM.Ah, 43. _His_ number.That satisfied him a smidgen.

The backwards people with their stinking bodies and backwards minds and their backwards habits were out and about again today.It was something Travis had to relive every single day since he stepped foot in this city those years ago.Of course, that was just the bare minimum he could complain about.If he could not find something big to worry or complain about, the littlest things would have to do until he felt justified again.

He had not written in his journal in a little bit.He just didn’t feel up to it.Something had shifted in his mood since coming back from Iris’s.It could have been the experience but more than likely it was Iris herself affecting him.It was always her.

The next time he dropped by Loch Ness Inn, he would have some serious questions regarding the attempted theft to Raynard and Co.Robbery was as common as breathing in New York City, especially for taxi drivers who actually had to get up and close with these passengers who may or may not be insane or a stalker, but he was almost completely certain they were behind it.The horse figurine proved that to him.

He washed some of his still remaining, undamaged dishes and then decided to venture into the downstairs hallway, where the outside entrance and the phones were located.He heard the family apartment noises of arguing, rapid Spanish and Italian, bed springs moving, and kids crying on a few floors. It was the bottom that was eerily silent and made Travis feel emptier than he already commonly did.

A person was already on one of the phones, trying to be more hushed once they saw Travis.Travis lingered around, trying to remember why he came down here.The person looked at him oddly for a minute, as he was just pacing around.They finally hung up and left in their car parked outside.

A rusted car.Travis’s was better.

Right! That was why he came down! Travis inspected every part of the cracked, slimy floors and walls (including pressing them with the palm of his hands to test their strength) to find the evidence of bullets, footprints, and other marks.

Nothing was found.Travis tried to look harder.

Finally, he discovered what appeared to be a small, bullet-like ridge in the brick at the end of the hall.He traced it, and decided it must have been from a larger firearm.Not a Smith and Wesson, but an automatic?A Beretta Model 76? A Python? A Colt Trooper? _A machine gun?_

Travis tried to reach around for his clipboard to write down all from what he found, and his theories on what might have happened, where it happened, what was used, and who may have done it.It was more interesting than writing down fare, that was for sure.

Yet he couldn’t find it.That made him remember something, and as if on cue, the phone he usually used rang.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi….Travis?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Um, this is Christina.”

Travis briefly paused.“Hey Christina.How did you find this number?”

“It’s Adam’s complex too.You happened to pick up.Righteous.”

“How are you?”

“Good. Look, I still have your clipboard, so…”

“Right, right.You did end up doin all that for me? Thanks man.”

“No problem.I’m surprised you haven’t hounded me for it back yet.So…so should I bring it over…or do you want to come pick it up…or, what should I do?”

“D-Definitely come over here.I’m in the entrance hallway, so if you know the street you can find me waiting.Here.”He pointed his finger to the floor for no reason.

Now it was Christina who paused.“Ok.You’ll be there, then.”

“Yep.I’m a real patient man, don’t worry,” he lightly chuckled, but there was a longer silent pause that made him fidget.

Then she hung up before Travis could say goodbye. _I guess it doesn’t matter, she’ll be here soon._ Still… _she hung up on me._ Travis clicked his teeth.

She ended up taking her damn time. _Don’t be fucking with me_ , Travis warned her telepathically, _don’t even try.Now’s not the fucking time._ That clipboard was vital for his work, which he badly needed to return to before he was reported for going overtime on the break he fought so hard to secure—and that was only because he had that clean, on time, hardworking record.

He was leaning on the wall with arms crossed when he saw her walk in.

“Hello, stranger,” Travis greeted.

Christina handed the clipboard and explained what Wizard had told her.She hesitated to admit that they invited her to eat with them in his place, fearing he may be jealous for some reason, but he reacted well enough.“Nice of em.Bosom buddies they are, just without the bosoms.Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

Christina put her hands in her pockets: “Anyways, you’re welcome Trav. Thanks for the change, but I expect a higher pay roll next time.Good luck with the…tourists.Peace.”

“Heh, I know right, thanks.See ya.”

Right before she left out the door, she stopped, and began stepping backwards to Travis again.

“I remembered something.”

“Mm?”

Christina had that weird feeling again with Travis (the first time being on the sidewalk that night), like he was seeing into her soul and out the other end, scanning her for any slight.It always made her want to hide.Instead though, she straightened her back and found the courage to say what had been on her mind since it was brought up:

“At some point we should still go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

Travis had totally forgotten about it, and wasn’t all that up to it. 

“I’m gonna be pretty busy, but-“

“I understand.” Christina tried not to look hurt as she turned to leave.

“Tomorrow!” Travis blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Christina sharply asked.

“Uh—we could scurry ourselves all over the Met, tomorrow.Most def..initely.”His bizarre words poured out like a nervous child’s.

Christina’s narrow eyes narrowed further.“What are you talking about?? Speak English.”

“I just meant we could go the museum tomorrow, if you’re up to it.I think I can take one more day off. The Met is the nickname for it.”

“Oh.Yeah, that’s fine.We should go early…in…in the morning.”

“Certainly.I’ll pick you up, so go on and give me your address, if you don’t mind.”

There was another pause.

“I-“ Travis started.

“I-“ Christina started.

“You go first,” Travis said.

“I know I’ve been an asshole to you, and I still hope we can hang out.But I saw you as a low-hanging fruit, a squealing swine, a puss-filled boil on the ass of decency in this world, because you do nothing but make guttural noises about how you feew bahd, and then pump chambers into bodies.You make my eyes water and my throat and bowels irritable, kind of like being stuck in the middle of the Jersey Turnpike with a hives rash and without a chance of escape.For the longest time I saw you as the human equivalent of rat poison.”

Travis blinked.He tried not to be offended at her usual games.“You know you love me Christina.”

“I have some admiration for you, and I respect your refusal to die,” she pointed to his neck scar.

Then she crossed her arms and sighed:“But, whatever.”

“You’re such a sweetie.I’ll see you tomorrow. We need to be on time, so get up early.”

“Oh,” he raised a finger, “and try not to slice your arms in your own first-world misery before then, ok? I need you alive.”

 _Good comeback_ , Christina thought.Travis was getting better with them.He must be around more people lately, socializing. _Yuck._

“I hear you.Bye, Trav.” 

She stopped again, with a little smile: “You know I’m fucking with you.”

Travis smiled too, and tapped his watch: “Get up early, Christina.”This time, he wasn’t so put off by her fucking with him.

Their playfulness was reignited.

Christina was in such a sweet, deep sleep.People that knew her knew that her sleeping patterns could be a little off: mostly she stayed up too late and woke up too late, but she would also stay up too late and get up too early, or go to bed too early and wake up too early, and she was a habitual napper at every chance—even at the job.She would marry sleep if she could, she loved it so.

New York was so cold though, it ended up making her sleepier, and her rests were hollow and dark, often filled with the inter-dimensional, symbolic dreams that meant so much to her.

This morning, it was interrupted by loud clanging sounds.Christina tossed and turned.Bang.Bang.More construction—they’d been working on it all week.

She grumbled and put the pillow over her head.Birds erupted in their morning chorus to join in on the banging.

Christina gave a death grip to her pillow in frustration before throwing it to the side and heaving her body so she laid face-first and the thin curtain blinded her.Damn sunlight and its damn flame-ball brightness, warming the earth like it owns the place.She just wanted one more slice of that delicious sleep.

She had her eyes closed for about three minutes before she jolted up and wobbled to the room clock.She winced as her ankles ached from the pressure, giving her that familiar bone-on-bone feeling, and she almost walked into the bedside table with her puffy, barely open eyes.She didn’t have her glasses on yet, and she was blind as a bat without the specs.

It was late in the morning, and Christina had an appointment.She ran her fingers down her face, leaving faint red marks on her cheeks.She still took her time; the subdued, soft-spoken Travis would surely understand.

She took out four leftover boiled eggs from the fridge and wolfed them down with water.She wiped the water dribbling off her chin and took to the bathroom.She had to groom today.

First, there was the hair brushing.She woke up with a bedhead that made her cropped, straw-like hair go in backwards directions like a pompadour with cowlicks.A “rat’s nest” her Paw Paw would have called it.

She had to tame it, and make sure it covered her balding spots.That one stubborn cowlick on the back of her head still stuck out like a dry stick even when she tried to pat it down with water.Gel it would be. Then she brushed her gap-filled teeth.That one gap in the middle she could spit through.

She plucked a long hair sticking out from her chin with tweezers, and had to shave her top lip because her dark peach fuzz was beginning to grow enough to resemble a thin mustache again.

When she took off the shirt she slept in to change, she caught glimpse of her bare breasts.That same old uncomfortable feeling tickled; her own body bothered her—it reminded her of her femininity.

Christina had little problem being a female.She knew she was a woman—that was obvious.But she felt weird about it since she was a child, and at one point, when she was very young, she had told her father, “I want to be a boy!”

Her father looked as if he would strike her right there.He didn’t, but he looked it.He was furious.He yelled, “By God you don’t! I’ll die before I see my only girl, the one I prayed for, think like that! You are a girl and always will be a girl, do you understand?”Christina was only more hurt, and more confused.It only became worse when she grew.She was always extremely flat-chested, and her breasts were small, and not that noticeable.Yet they were there, they were still there.

Sometimes she ignored it, or tolerated it.Sometimes she felt proud of her body and gender.Other times, she wanted to cut them off; remove them somehow.The doctor she went to at the age of 20 told her it was from a hormonal imbalance or deficiency—otherwise nothing was wrong, even though this type of medicine had been so little studied and understood.They said she didn’t have some kind of strong gender dysphoria, it was just hormones (that, apparently, they said also caused her growth stunting, hair, skin blemishes, and potentially some of her appearance) and possibly something genetic or family-related.That made sense to her, because again, she wasn’t looking to _become_ something else, but something about her anatomy grossed her out.

It was as if she couldn’t get herself to claim complete ownership of her own human shell.

Another time, she had been in college and in a locker room after a class with one of her only two friends there.The friend was a short, stout, chubby young man with a mop of hair and buckteeth.They were competitors in their class, but friends outside.They had to quickly change after getting oil on their clothes.Christina suddenly pulled off her shirt, flashing him.

“Whoa!” He had said, “put it back on!”

Christina honestly thought it was no big deal.“Why? Guys change in front of each other all the time.It’s just a body.”

“Yeah but you’re not-“

“Not what?”

“Never mind,”he watched her put a new shirt on.

“You got some perky little tits, you know that?”

She smirked.“Uh, thanks.Usually I get told I look like a 12 year old boy.”

“A 12 year old boy with perky little tits.It’s…weird.”Though he liked it.Her body otherwise was not much to look at, and he saw a boil on her chest and hair on her arms.

He also noticed small scrapes and sawdust on her knuckles.“Have you been trying out carpentry again?”

“Of course.How else will I build the next arc for humanity when we’re all set on fire?”

“But do you have to skin yourself, though? Can’t you be more careful?”

“I’m of the firm belief that anyone who is in woodwork, and does _not_ scrape themselves on purpose on occasion, are, simply put, pussies.I can already feel my skin becoming leather; I’ll be slaying cryptids in no time.”

RJ laughed: “That’s not how it works.”

Christina threw a ball from a locker.“Go. Fetch, boy.”

He followed it like a lovesick puppy.Indeed, RJ would be the only person Christina could claim she ever came close to “falling in love” with, whatever that truly means.

In the bathroom, Christina thought she heard a car horn.She rushed to throw on a warm sweater over her khakis and work boots.

Travis was eyeing the eerie wire fences in the borough he just entered.Christina lived in what could be called the ghetto, in a long chain of ground-level townhome apartments near Central Park.No one, not one soul, went out at night in Central Park.Even going alone in the day might be dangerous.Travis was simply impressed that Christina, an outsider like him, had even survived this long in this city without proper protection, or from he could tell.

He parked outside of what she said was her apartment number.She had a car, but it looked infrequently used—Travis could always tell.He honked twice, and was beginning to grow impatient.A man in construction working on a close roof yelled at him to shut up.He turned his eyes to the empty basketball court while he waited.That court held many games by many people, including Adam and Christina.A teenage black boy eventually came out to play on it, and Travis thought he recognized him as one of the kids that threw rotten eggs at his taxi—the taxi he had driven here.

When the construction worker put on muffs, he honked a third time.Christina at last opened her window.“I heard you the first time,” she shouted.

“Are you ready or what?”

“Pretty much.Why don’t you park closer, you’re blocking the street,” she motioned him forward.Travis drove in and she motioned him inside this time.Travis shook his head but Christina nodded hers mischievously.

Travis stared out the front window and sighed.He locked the door as he got out, and looked both ways for any signs of suspicion, especially suspicious people.

There was a small kitchen, table, and chairs connected to a parlor and bedroom.A few doors indicated other rooms, probably a washing room or guest room.It was mostly dull colors, with the occasional design patterns.Everything was ordered, in the sense that everything had a place/corner.The dishes were washed unlike in the poor organization of Travis’s apartment, where things were often just thrown anywhere until Travis decided what to do with it.. 

But—this apartment was cluttered with various objects and _covered_ in dust.It was on everything.

“Holy shit, you need to dust.”

“Well good morning to you too.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m under a bad, old air duct, and I can hardly keep up with it.Eh well, I’m used to it.”

“Yeah but, Christina, this is…” he trailed off to the dust bunnies on the vents, and the dust particles in the morning sun.He traced his finger along the white coating of a shelf and tried to shake it off, his nose tickling.He marked a capital “T” in the dust coating with an underline, as if marking new territory.

“Alright…other than that, what do you think?”

“You have a lot of…stuff.”

“Indeed I do.Allow me to show you.This over here,” she waved to a corner with many things made out of wood, “are my carvings.”There were carved animals, especially creepy looking, big-eyed owls perched on surfaces, carved Celtic crosses, a carved toy sword, a carved stool, carved baskets, and her biggest project yet—a chess table with chess pieces—in progress.There was a guitar too, but it was bought.

Referring to the chessboard, she said, “It’s given me migraines, I can tell you that.”

Travis thought her work was well done, though it was clear she wasn’t a professional.But for a hobby, it was pretty good.“Where do you find all the time to do this?”

“Some people fuck in their spare time.I’m alone with my dead trees and thoughts.”

She apparently had a specific obsession with clocks.There were several clocks in one apartment, a lot of them with wooden panels.A Victorian grandfather clock stood next to her television.Light ticking were the only sounds in this place.

On one shelf was the biggest stack of books Travis had ever seen, of course dusty.He tried to pick one up, and Christina pointed her finger:“Don’t!”

“Please, please don’t.I put it there for a reason, and if you touched it…I would be very…upset, if you messed it up.”

 _Okaaay,_ Travis thought, removing his fingers.Apparently this was a small museum itself, with things old and new that can be seen but not touched, and Christina was showing it off like a tour guide. 

They needed to get going; he wrung his hands trying to control himself.

 _Be normal today.Please be normal.No trucks, no gunshots, no cut off chicken heads, no cakes, no flashbacks, no urges, no Betsy, no Iris_.

Normalcy.

“How was Adam on the trip?” She asked.“Great.”He talked about it while Christina led him to a room, opening the door carefully as if not to disturb what was inside.

Travis glimpsed into it.There were two tanks: one small, one large.Then there was a big crated area, but open.There was cat stuff everywhere and it _stunk_ , the animal kind of stink.

The small tank held a tarantula.The large tank held a big snake—a python.The caged area held a rodent Travis didn’t recognize, and a scratching post was next to a cat bed.

“And here’s where the critters stay.”

“How on earth are you allowed to keep them?” Travis had to hide unlicensed weapons from the state; how was she getting way with this?

“Inspectors rarely come here.All of these animals are from home; my family wanted me to get rid of them, and my uncle in Athens couldn’t keep them for me.I feel awful, I know they need somewhere bigger—and legal—to live.What can you do, you know.”If she had the room, she’d get ferrets too.

A jingle sound came closer.“There’s my boy!”

A grey cat with a bell collar pranced in, purring and rubbing on Christina’s leg and getting cat hair on her nice pants.She picked him up and held him with one hand cradling his bottom and the other under his front limbs.“This is St. Augustine.”She said he was a Russian Blue.

“The medieval guy?”

“If by medieval guy you mean the theologian and writer of City of God? Yes.” 

_She gave her fucking cat a name with “St.” in it._ This would not be a good time to admit that he once bruised his uncle’s cat’s rib when he was extremely angry and kicked it as a kid.He didn’t mean to…it just happened.A lot of things in his life would roll out that way; it didn’t mean he was a cruel person.

_It did not._

Christina saw his expression and glared.“Do you not like cats?” Her voice had an interrogator’s chill to it.

“I like that cats never give a damn about nothing and can kill, though they tend to kill innocent little animals.Maybe I’m just more of a dog person or something,” he had fond memories of his loyal dog Chester, who was at one time his only real friend.“It’s like that Disney movie The Aristocats.Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat!”

St. Augustine started to scratch up a chair and she had to spray him.Travis imagined what would happen if he sprayed _her_ with water.He figured she was the type to throw birthday parties and make food for her pets, but no one else showed up to the parties.

Travis tried to reach out and pet the cat, but the cat upon seeing him hissed and swiped to try to scratch him.

“Augustine!” She sprayed him again and he growled, his back arched and ears back at Travis.

He hopped into her arms and she calmed him with her touch.She said, “Animals can sense evil, you know…”

“Can we just go already,” Travis growled himself.

“Do you want to hold one of the animals first? You can, if you want.”

Travis _was_ curious, so he agreed to the tarantula and snake.The python was his favorite—it seemed to like him.Its muscular body curled around his arms, but not in constriction.Then again, Travis was rather reptilian himself, with his muscle, glassy eyes, pointy teeth, and cold, discolored skin.Even Adam had compared him to a crocodile or alligator.The snake slithered at him and Travis lightly stroked it with his finger.“Do you feed it live or dead mice,” he asked.

“It’s a her, and usually I can only find dead for my beauty.”

He asked what the rodent was, and she said it was a guinea pig.It had black and white fur.

“Oh so it’s an _Italian_ rat,” he joked.

“They’re cute pets and sources of protein in Andean cultures.This one’s name is Hatch.”

“If you ever ran out of food to find for Miss Snake, would you feed her Hatch? I love watching those nature shows where snakes choke the life out of the rabbit before swallowing it whole, and you can see its little legs kicking on its last grips of life…kinda turns me on, honestly.” Travis meant it as dark sarcasm (at least, he _mostly_ did) but Christina was taken aback and grabbed all of her animals out of his hands.“Ok.We’re done.”

The last spot was her room.“We do really need to go,” Travis objected.Christina opened the door.

“You can stay here as long as you like. _I_ at least need to get back to my cab.”

“I want…you…to see this,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry.” He started almost running out the door.She couldn’t trap him in here like the animals.

Right as he sped up, she rushed at an even faster pace trying to block him.Her arm reached out defensively and collided with his fisted arm, their hard bodies meeting each other like two concrete slabs, neither getting knocked down.

St. Augustine crawled and hid under the bed.

They laughed passive-aggressively and almost circled one another to size each other up in their continued power struggle.Two scruffy alley cats battling for territory—an alpha male and an alpha female.

“Alright then,” Travis said, “let’s see it and get a move on.”

Her room had many posters: a grizzly bear poster, a poster of running horses in a desert above her bed, a poster of a baseball player, a Beatles Yellow Submarine poster (definitely a stoner, Travis decided), a world map poster, a Ted Nugent poster, and a movie poster of British horror film The Wicker Man with a heart drawn in marker over Christopher Lee’s name on the cast list.

Also squeezed onto her walls was a banner for the University of Mississippi, the Mississippian flag which had the Confederate flag in its corner, and one of her own wooden crosses above the bed frame.The bed itself was made, with a New York Jets blanket on it and a stuffed white tiger. 

Her dresser had a few sports trophies, another clock, and even more books on several subjects, still dusty.He considered if she might just have them to show off, instead of actually having read all of them.

Christina hoped that Travis would be impressed with all these books she had collected and read.

One thing did catch Travis’s eye—she had a suitable collection of sharpened, polished knives.Likely tools, but they were nice to look at.

 _Finally,_ she pointed to what she wanted to show him, what she was so proud of.It was a corner of her room dedicated to KISS.There was a glass case—the only thing dusted—with KISS dolls, bobbleheads, rings, and cards.On top was her first KISS 1974 record and above it was a poster of the band.It was decorated like a sacred altar.

Next to it was her record player.

“Kiss is brutal.Calling Dr. Love, spitting fire and blood, shows like you’ve never seen, women flashing their tits at Gene….brutal” she said.“As much as I would love to see them in concert, I hate crowds and the smell of sweat-drenched wildebeests surrounding me.…no escape.”

Travis was thinking about getting her tickets for Christmas until she said that.

“Still, they mean so much to me.All my records here are rock, country, bluegrass, and classical.I have The Rolling Stones, Dolly Parton, Mozart, The Doors, The Slits, Rush, ZZ Top, Judas Priest, The Beach Boys, Bill Monroe, Jethro Tull, Beethoven, Creedence Clearwater Revival, you name it.I recently bought the new AC/DC album.Rock lives.Disco will die.”

“Wow,” was all Travis could say.

After that, they left.It was almost lunch time now.

The sun felt good on Christina’s face, who hated the cold.“I can see the druids dancing,” she said randomly.She didn’t feel as good when she saw the taxi again.The taxi that, in some ways, felt partly hers with how much work she put into sprucing and tweaking it.

“What’s wrong friendo? Never rode in a taxi before?” Travis thought it was funny.

“Nope.” 

“Well you’re in luck.You’re my only customer today.So…I’m gonna need you to pay.”

“No seriously, you have to pay me.I paid for your onion rings, you pay for your ride.We have an economic relationship, remember?”

She opened the car door, and he put his hand up.“Just to let you know, this cab has seen a _lot_ of blood and cum, but it’s the cleanest it’s been right now.If you can breathe in all that dust, this shouldn’t hurt you.”

“Why not lick off and consume the blood and semen and then sacrifice and have sex with livestock afterwards for a sacred ritual of youth and life?”

Travis stopped talking to Christina after that. 

She was slightly cringing sitting in the cab of bodily fluids from God knows who and where.

Travis remembered the route well, having driven to it many, many times.Of course, traffic slowed him down every time—it did everyone on the roads.He got into the same lane as other taxis.

Christina propped her leg up on the dividing ridge.

Travis tried to look at her with the driver’s mirror, and she leaned to avoid his gaze.For the life of him he could not get a good look at her.“Please put your foot down,” he said.

Christina did, but not before giving him a blink-and-you-will-miss-it “make me” look.Travis was really starting to think that he had met his match.

She pulled out the money he had bribed her with to talk to the cabbies and paid her fare.

The museum was busy and crowded (as to be expected), and the two were already gazing up at the intricate, huge arched building as they walked up the steps.

It was even more beautiful on the inside.The architecture ranged from modern to cathedral, and much of it resembled the exhibits, such as the Grecian pillars.It was mostly white, tan, and gold in color.It was the biggest museum Christina had ever seen, and Travis had only been in the lobby.

Travis paid for his ticket at the admissions counter, where the woman seemed starstruck:“Are you—are you Travis Bickle?”

“Yes ma’am,” Travis answered in slow suspicion.

She put her hand on her chest.“Oh, oh wow.It’s such a pleasure to have you.You’re kind of a hero of mine!Would you like a discount sir? F-For veterans?” She was captivated and wanted to cater to him, clearly.

“Oh no, no, no.That’s not necessary, but I appreciate it.”

“Wicked boots,” a man behind him said.Travis turned and added, “Thanks, it’s my best pair.”

“You gotta dress like the best,” the man said.

“I know it.”Travis took the ticket and then it was Christina’s turn.

“Good day,” the ticket woman told her, less cordial.Christina gave her information and the woman asked, “I’m sorry, but can you repeat that?”

“And how do you spell your name again?”

“C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N-A, V-A-L-D-E-Z. Christina Valdez.”

“And you are an…adult, correct?”

“Yes.”She didn’t ask Travis that!

“Maybe we could’ve said you were a teen or even a kid, and you wouldn’t have to drain your pocket,” he quietly joked, but Christina was even quieter. 

“No worries,” she acted unbothered but there were signs of embarrassment and annoyance.

With the map/brochure, Travis had to inspect the layout of the whole museum before anything else.He looked at it for five minutes or more in concentrated silence.Christina waited still and patiently, also silent.

“Ok so, basically…we start…wherever the most sophisticated Western art is,” Travis decided on a whim.“European and American.That should be good.”

“Or Greek and Roman, they were beasts….somewhat literally.” She imagined those fed to lions and womanizing animal-formed Greek creatures.She imagined the majesty of Babylon.

“No, they were degenerates.I want to see the paintings.”

“But ancient civilizations are _ancient civilizations_.”

“Go ahead, see the pagans.I want to admire the _advanced_ West.”

“Oh my God, it doesn’t fucking matter, Travis.Let’s just start on the bottom floor where we’re at and work our way up.Good? Good.”

A mother with her toddler in a stroller scowled at Christina.She instructed her young daughter, “Don’t ever say the word that boy just said.”

Christina had a blank stare, and then a sigh.Typical.“Lead the way, Trav.”

They started in the Egyptian hall, where the statues and the Temple of Dendur greeted them.It was noticeable how Christina’s morose temperament changed a bit once she was surrounded by her interests.There was more of a groove in her step as she surveyed the artifacts.

Travis was amazed by the capabilities people had even in those times.The moon he saw at night was the same moon Pharaoh saw.Human beings throughout time were all connected in that way.It was the same play with different stages.It actually lifted Travis’s mood, too.He was part of something.

“Now if I saw a mummy who looks like I feel…my day would very well be made,” said Christina.

Travis had to move for someone.“I think if everyone wasn’t here, and it was only us two alone in the museum to explore, that would make it a good day.”

“Hey Christina, you’re a sharp tack and all.”

She grinned.“Why thank you,” that was a compliment coming from Travis.

“How about you tell me all about these gods and goddesses?”

She was content with that.She explained some mythology from Egypt, Greece, Mexico, and Scandinavia.She would lead him around, point things out, and note things.She liked Athena, goddess of war and wisdom, the most.Travis could still only say “wow” or nod.His anxiety over robberies, cults, pedophiles, Iris and Adam’s problems, the world, and any or everything that could ruin every waking moment of his life was washed away in a distracting wave of art for a moment. 

Art was supposed to be the medium of truth, beauty, and goodness, and Travis just saw it as worthless or deviant junk that could instead manipulate truth, beauty, and goodness.

It was just fucking painted paper on a wall by someone who thinks/thought they shit gold.Big deal.

But he had a second opinion from a second person with him this time.

They brutally ripped apart the modern art together, which was entertaining.Christina was trying to remember what one form of recent art was, behaving a little condescendingly to Travis’s limited education, and Travis guessed, “Dadaist.”

Christina was wrong, and he was…right. “Interesting.”

There was art from cultures all over the world, and the two were leaving a Byzantine mosaic when they entered the room with the knights.Full knight armor, weaponry, flags.Travis at last found his exhibit.

The reminder of the Middle Ages meant that Christina had to go on about how interested she was in torture and execution:“You have the Catherine wheel, the guillotine, the Brazen Bull, bamboo torture, rat torture, burning, quartering, flaying, sawing, or good ol hanging….but my personal favorite is scaphism, filling a traitor of the state to the brim with milk and honey until they spew from both ends and insects feast on the rest…drifting alone in the water…losing your mind and feeling, day..by day.All that just to kill someone! Persia was a heartwarming example of the fight for human rights…kind of like the Near East today.”

“Psychos were more creative back then, I guess,” Travis commented.

“Now we have nicer, _tamer_ psychos with a little more sugar and spice to their evil.”

“I don’t know, I’d bring back a few of those circus rides for the filth that drips out of us like a paraplegic geezer’s pisshole.”

“I’ll sign that bill.God Bless America.”They both laughed darkly.

“And now we’ve removed God.Who acts as God?”

“Well there’s always the Federal Reserve and International World Bank,” Christina snarked.

“Exactly.” Travis crossed his arms.“Actually, I mean, I don’t know a huge deal about the Federal Reserve, but I agree.Banks are twisty fucks.”

“Although I’m not just talking about the scum around us when I refer to punishment,” Travis continued, “but also the scum _above_ us.The biggest criminals.At least, they like to think they’re all high and mighty and in need of constant, daily ass-kissing.They run all the governments and economies, they like to think they’re gods over our destinies, in our insignificant little mortal lives.And they’ll tell you we’re all going crazy, and maybe we are…” Travis’s eyes darted to a knight’s armor. 

“Corruption is as old as dirt.Every generation has a new breed of it,” Christina said in efforts to sound calm and rational against Travis’s rants.“Though I do agree that these shadowy-“

“The wealthy will always pull through.But who suffers? Us.Who suffered in Vietnam? Us.Who suffers when they play their games? Us.Who suffers while they drink out of their porcelain straws? Us.Who suffers while they play with the world like it’s Monopoly? Us.Who suffers while they prance around doing God knows what in that Bohemian Grove? Us.Who suffers in this city while they neglect the American spirit? Us.And who will suffer when shit really hits the fan?”

“…Us?” Christina guessed.

"Damn straight.It’s so fucked, man.I’m a low class taxi driver, the low of the low.I know my shit.Somebody better take control of this damn rollercoaster ride already, before ‘us’ has enough.”

_Before I have enough._

_I should have control. What if I saved us all…_

Christina, who studied the economy diligently and supported the free market, often took her anger out on the US education system (she preferred the Scandinavian), hated tyranny and those who tried to control her, liked to mock and scorn all political sides, as well as the pampered middle class ignorance and shunning of people like her, while mostly agreeing with him, had this vague suggestion of nearly envying the powerful that she didn’t care to admit, and thought power in the _right_ hands can still be good:“I think-"

Travis interrupted again: “—the UN, Freemasons, the US government, Trilateral Commission, ‘environmental crisis,’ my father warned me of it all.They put mercury and fluoride in our water,” he was looking at Christina’s teeth when he said that, which made her self-conscious and close her mouth.“They hate us…and I hate them with every part of my being.”

“You’re the new Palantine, then,” Christina meant as a tease.

“NO,” Travis responded in anger she had not heard before, and then said in his normal soft voice, “No, I wouldn’t say that.” He tried to force a smile to save face and make it seem like he wasn’t 100% serious.

Christina shifted around in her quiet manner as she looked at a few more art pieces, until she said, “Ok, I’ve seen enough knights.”

They found themselves looking at Mesoamerican art.“Oh no, break out the death whistles.Am interessantesten,” said Christina.

“The what?” Travis asked while looking at a stone wall with a snake-headed figure on it.

“I took a little German in college.”

Travis noticed the sharp and graphic designs of the Mayan and Pre-Columbian art, and wondered if they were all on some kind of cactus drug.

“Didn’t they perform human sacrifice, and tear out hearts?”

“Yes,” said some other tourist walking by. 

“The Aztecs and Incas mostly performed the human sacrifice,” Christina answered.“They did damage to the middle class of the time.The Maya were pretty advanced…The Aztecs, corrupt, would sacrifice children to their rain god, and had to make them cry.So they would try to rip out their teeth and fingernails to do so.They later skinned the heads, and preserved the skulls.They would also discipline their living children by scratching their backs with cactuses…efficient.”

“Savages,” Travis whispered.“Did they shrink heads too?”

“You’re thinking of the Ecuadorian Jivaro tribe.Also, it’s not like the Spanish were sweet little angels either.”

Christina thought, and then spoke more: “You know, people wonder how the drug cartels of Mexico are able to be so violent.I think…I think combining two bloodthirsty civilizations helped.”

“ _Ugh_ , cartels.So much carnage over power and drugs…and the Americans that help them." He liked the idea of being chosen as the one to round the animals up and subject them to a one-man firing squad.It would be slow…

“That may sound a little racist,” Christina continued on her “bloodthirsty” comment, “but I’m half-Latin, so I can _half_ say it.”

“You are?” Of course, he thought— _Valdez._

“I am, but it’s South American, not Mexican.My mother’s side is Scottish, Swedish, and Choctaw Indian.My father’s is Spaniard and Peruvian.”

Christina right now had pale, almost yellowish skin, but she could tan easily in the sun instead of burn.Travis noticed she had the darker hair, the wide nostrils and flatter nose, the almond shaped eyes, cheekbones, and the shorter build.But she also had blue irises, thin lips, and other Caucasian features as well.This confused him; mixed people sometimes did that, and he didn’t know why.Sometimes he wished he could see things like the average, “accepting” person did.Wouldn’t there be an identity crisis?

He kept his thoughts to himself, though.Normalcy.

“The Incan Empire had complex cities and layouts, clothing patterns, potatoes, jewels, and sacrificial mountain mummies…I still want to see a mummy,” she observed a jaguar jar close up.

“Hey,” Travis pointed out, “if your dad has ancestry from Peru, maybe you’re a descendant of the Incas, like a royal sun emperor or whatever they had.”

Christina had a small laugh.“I am the descendant of the sun god!Slit open the throats of your first borns, enslave rival villages, and build entire cities in my honor.Bow down, lest I not show mercy, peasant.Long live the Empire.”

Travis pretended to raise his hands and bow a little to her, and she grinned. 

Their next stop was the Southeast and South Asian section.There were multiple statues and engravings of dancers with many arms, bells, and jewelry.They were also mostly topless.

Christina lifted her hand to cover Travis’s eyes, which he playfully knocked away. _I have to protect the virgin_ , she joked to herself.

She was always impressed with the advancements of these people, especially with Sanskrit.

Travis, meanwhile, thought it was all weird but he did like Ranbir.And the Kama Sutra.

Soon their legs were tired, so they stopped and sat on a bench in a quieter spot.They sat silently until Travis wanted to get more out of her, as she was opening up to him quite a bit: “Tell me some more about yourself.I’m right here to listen.”

“Wh-what do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.I mean, if you want.”

She sighed:“Um, okay.”

“Well, I am a human being, born and raised.”

“Good to know.”

“And,” she continued, “I grew up in a trailer park.I was homeschooled.”

“Ahh, it all makes sense now,” Travis scoffed.

She glared at him, but went on.

“Nothing too bad: I had shelter, a bed, good food, and family, so I can’t complain.But I guess life was a little bumpy for the rough-and-tumble tomboy I was, with a love of wrestling, animals, climbing trees, and board games.A lot of that came from growing up with two older brothers, who I loved with all my heart. 

I had family on my mom’s side who I saw every summer at the big old house near the swampy forest.My Aunt Wilma, her sister, owned it.She was childless, smart, and told it like it is…so naturally she was my favorite relative.My father’s brother, my Uncle Franco, lives on a small plot up in Athens, New York.Dad is a New Yorker and Mom is from Mississippi.Then there was my grandfather with the gold tooth, who I already told you showed me hunting, fishing, and camping.I didn’t like it that much but I did enjoy boating and shooting.

I wore my brothers’ hand-me-down clothes and beat up on my cousins who took my stuffed animals, or church girls who were too pretty…but I think sports _definitely_ shaped me up.Soccer, softball, basketball, and archery.I tried them all…with uh…varying success.” She tilted her hand to accentuate the point.“I loved, LOVED sports.Then in my late teens the juvenile arthritis kicked in…” her gaze wandered out the closest window.

“I think it came from an injury, though my Dad _swears_ it started after the divorce.I was having digestive and stress issues.My hormones were out of wack.I developed esophageal thrush that caused me to not be able to swallow, not even my own spit, without it feeling like a razor blade going down my throat….and then the joints…needless to say, it was one of the most physically painful moments of my life.I was _forced_ to lay down and heal for months.There was no tv in my room…I had nothing else to do but read.Read, read, and read.But…I liked it.I mean, I was always a good student, but now it was something fierce.I wanted to know everything…just, just everything.It was addictive.I always had intense interests…but this was something _new_.I realized I no longer wanted to be known as the ‘tough kid,’ but rather the ‘smart kid,’ after my dad told me that he who reads, leads.Knowledge is power and all that.

I found out I had a talent for woodwork and working with automobiles.After a beginner’s class starting when I was fourteen, I was able to get into college, and my earlier training helped me excel.Now I have a fucked low-wage job.The rest, as they say, is self-righteous bullshit history.

But…yeah, that’s me!”

For whatever reason, something about her, after she said that and the mannerisms in how she said it, sort of reminded Travis of a somewhat female version of Quint from last year’s super popular thriller: Jaws.He also noticed that she said nothing of the professor and court case—which he still desired to know.

“Is that enough…because I even hate listening to my own voice.”

“Why does everything that you say sound like rushed, bull-crap essays that you had to write and memorize in college, and now you’re just regurgitating them to everyone who cares to listen?”

A slow, sly half-grin etched onto her face: “Is it that obvious?”

They were quiet again, and Christina began to wash out the sounds and sights around her to think, and her thinking could make her anxious and overloaded.

“You see, Trav,” Christina swerved to talk again to Bickle.“I believe ambition isn’t always a bad thing.In fact, it can be quite healthy in proper doses.Ambition is often good.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep.Part of the reason I do hobbies like wood-carving isn’t just for the artistic merit…I want to be more self-reliant, and lean on things even if I have a job….so I can stand still like an icecap, waiting for any potential collisions.I can’t just sit still and watch the world go in its frantic circles, I need a challenge, something to do and to succeed at.I need a contest to win.I need a cliff I can climb up with my bare hands…and no matter how many times I fall, I don’t stop and rest until I reach the very peak.” She was trailing and pouncing two fingers from her thigh to her knee while saying this, as if to emphasize the movements.

“Well then, you _are_ ambitious.”

Christina played with her thumbs and shrugged.

“I just…I can’t stand whiners.All that self-pity that drains out of them into their self-made colostomy bags…no thank you.One of the reasons I was and still get annoyed by you is that you seemed too angsty.I think one should have the attitude of a winner, even if the situation is dire.I mean, why not? Nothing’s going to get better; at least try to fight back, you know?” She loudly grunted.“I can’t stand _certain_ people sometimes…”

Travis leaned his back on the bench and folded his arms.

“But that’s why you have to climb—when push comes to shove, you will be at the top…and how I love…being at the top.” Her eyes stared out in front of her with a little smirk.Then it disappeared and she was stony-faced again:“It’s too bad life isn’t so _simple_ that you can _simply_ become what you wanted to be as an ADHD tyke, and then it’s smooth sailing from there.”

“Story of most of our lives,” Travis said.

“I wanted to be a doctor, or a veterinarian,” Christina explained.

“I wanted to be a police officer,” he replied.

“Makes sense.You still can become one, though, like I was implying—stop at nothing to achieve what you want and what would be good.”

“You sound in an awful good cheer today.Am I coolin down your anger?”

“Please, I’m a thinker.I have good anger…it’s a cool, simmering wrath used for fuel, not destruction.I’m not some roided out fury freak…although,” she sat straighter, “when I used to play soccer, I did love to provoke some anger in rivals…oh man, it was fun.I loved to get in their heads, make their own competitive emotion betray them.I like playing with people like that.I would try to make up strategies and see if I could pull that off while winning the game, too…it didn’t always work, and we didn’t always win…but to see the fear and doubt in their eyes, their hopes crushed…I think it made it worth it.”

Travis didn’t say anything and Christina regretted her words: “Oof, that sounds so sadistic when I say it out loud.”

“I think it makes soccer sound more interesting, actually.So you’re ambitious _and_ you’re warlike? Yeah, I think we’ll get along fine.”

“It’s too bad I never found women’s sports interesting enough to even pay attention anyway, not that they’re bad or anything, I just, well, I don’t like it as much.But I’m not a sports person I guess, so.” Travis rambled.

“Understandable.It was an interesting time for me.I certainly prefer books and museums like this, nowadays.It doesn’t make me want to stick a pike into my skull as much.”

“You _probably_ wouldn’t be a good taxi driver, in that case.”

“Probably.At least I grew out of my…more unfavorable behaviors.Judging by your stunt last year, you haven’t grown out of it a bit.”

“Hey, I’ve told you plenty of times why I did it, so get off my nuts, why don’t ya?”

“Yes, Shooty-Man kill bad guys and did good thing.”

“Haha, yeah.Say that to yourself again when you and your loved ones are facing a barrel.”

“Look man, I’m as far as you can _get_ from perfect, so let’s not pretend that’s what I’m saying.I know I can always do better, and so can you.The climb on the cliff, man.”

“I bet you do like to climb for some stuff, _maaaan_.” She immediately knew he was implying drugs.

“If I had the luck, maybe.I don’t always have it.That’s why I love to gamble and play games.Throw the dice, see where it lands, bet the odds, drop a rock on someone’s head…where it will land, nobody knows!

I only need my wits, and the freedom to do as I please.Record numbers, place your bets….this life is a game and I intend to win it.I like making my own decisions…and the freedom to make my own mistakes.”She crossed her legs.“At the same time though, it can be _so boring_ to be at a higher IQ than everyone around you…” Christina smiled at her own brag and dry humor.

“Until you come across a person with real power.”

“Of course.I respect my superiors.It’s all part of our fascinating animal chain, am I right?”

“That’s nice and all, but we should finish our tour before the lights go off and we’re still here flappin our lips.”

“Right.It was um, it was nice of you to uh…to come along,” she cleared her throat as if the words were hard to spit out. 

“I think we both needed a break.Especially now that I have to be trapped in a car again, reforming, I mean de-forming my darned body.Though it is a job.Day and night, passengers fly by and croak.So the scum can gather and dance like devils under the heavens in filth-ridden courtship.They could give less of a fuck about you and your pursuit to happiness, or their driver to hell.”

“…yyyeah,” Christina droned, “and I’m not around those idiots…sorry, Rufus and Jake. Not.”

“They have to be some kinda smart if they’re breaking their backs over machines.”

“Oh sure, real Hegels, Foucalts, and Kants.”

Travis nodded, as though he knew who those people were and wished to impress Christina.

“At least now we know we can spend more time with each other, and find common interests and stupid shit like that,” he said.

“Ugh, I’d hate to cancel my lifelong dreams of being a ventriloquist and trombone player for you, but I would agree. Obviously you already have so much godforsaken time on your hands…it would be selfish not to share it with me.”

“The same person telling me this is the same person who would say and wish horrible things to me in public,” Travis then used her catchphrase, “Interesting.”

“I was clearly joking—I guess they were bad jokes, but I understand why you would be hurt, and so I apologize again, Bickle.Take it or leave it this time.”

“I’ll accept it.Sorry to rake you over the coals for daring to accuse you of something you actually did.Friends?”

“I’ll accept it,” she smiled at him.“We’re friends.Unless you die in your sleep, and then I will go on with my life and mourn you…from afar.”

He smiled at her too, and walked off of the bench to another room.

Christina quietly reprimanded herself: “You know you’re no better, Christina, face it.You got off on wearing him down, and now you’re using him for onion rings and modern art of LSD-induced paint splatters.”

She couldn’t believe he was actually affecting her to this degree: “Crazy bastard.”

“I said you’re crazy, if you didn’t hear me.” She called over.

He called back, “I’m not the one talking to myself…this time, thank God.”

She smiled even wider, and scrambled to follow him.That same mother and daughter from before had just walked by, staring at both like they were actually crazy, giving the death glare.Yet Christina paid no mind.She was becoming happier and more comfortable with Travis the more she hung out with him.

Travis was now on his own around the last leg of this Metropolitan pilgrimage.

He finally found the 16th-19th century European and American paintings, where the details wowed him.People actually put work into their artwork back then, he thought.The ideas were strong enough to shape the scene.It was geometric, but had a message. _That’s what we need,_ it suddenly came to him. _A renaissance of character—I like that, renaissance of character._

There were no dinosaurs in this museum, but Travis still remembered hearing from a cabbie who used to operate in D.C. that where was an actual sign saying the dinosaur bones in the Smithsonian museums were “reconstructions.”He believed that dinosaurs were probably not real anyways.All their bones _must_ be fake.

He was even more fascinated by the Native American and Inuit art.He had great respect for the tribes, even if he preferred modern America.This state had plenty of artifacts and canoes, particularly from the Iroquois.He read one interesting tidbit: in some of the Northern, Northeastern, and Canadian tribes, warriors, before they tortured a prisoner of war, would sometimes need the judgment first from the high-ranking women or a woman of the tribe on whether the prisoner would live or die. 

The mohawk-ed warriors gave him an uncomfortable recent memory.The thought of scalps gave another one—especially after Ranbir’s wife’s hair.After seeing their arrows and tomahawks, Travis had to leave.In the next exhibit, a painting of a horse’s frantic eye made him stir further.

Later he was in a small room where they were playing a short documentary on World War II.That great war of death and destruction, that still captured everyone’s attention years later.The sound of bombs and explosions made him flinch every time, and he hoped the person next to him wasn’t paying attention to that.At the end, the movie was saying that the Soviet-Russians were the real winners, and the Allies, even at the expense of nuclear attack, secured a more peaceful world.

“As if,” the guy next to him whispered.

“Exactly,” he whispered back.“They forgot to mention what the Japs did to American GIs and the Chinese in their secret labs.They cannibalized the India people too.Evil, man.Or, get this, the Russian ‘heroes’ ravaged Germany after Brits bombed the shit out of it by raping every female in sight in Berlin.So the Krauts are now all a bunch of Eurasian mutt rape babies.Think about that.”The guy was disturbed but Travis couldn’t help that when it came to history, he read up on and knew mostly military matters.“And they’re preachin this whole winners and losers story in the movies.You smell that?” Travis sniffed.“It’s bullshit.”The guy shook his head and rushed out, far away from Travis.

So much for keeping his thoughts to himself!

Something in that movie may have triggered something in Travis, because as soon as he saw a painting depicting a war scene, those stirrings were worse than ever.The horse’s eye, the scalp, the blood, the explosion—it came on like a speeding train.He heard a shrill sound, maybe a scream of someone (or something), and ducked his head, going over behind a wall.He gripped his belt instead of an M14 rifle. 

When he peered out, people were staring at him.“Are you ok?” A teenage girl asked.He walked along back as if nothing had happened.“Fine.How are you?” He awkwardly waddled out as the people watched him.

A speeding train—he unlocked a memory of one.Before the Vietnam War broke out, he saw one when he was an adolescent, standing in a field with a train track.It was carrying tanks.He watched it speed by.

He needed to go find Christina.The museum would be closing soon.

After deciding to split up, Christina was spending her precious time alone by wandering around the Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and African exhibits.She managed to squeeze in some time for the Greek and Roman parts, her favorites, and wondered what it would be like to be thrown with wild animals for entertainment.Or, the thought of an implosion of America the likes of the Roman Empire.Or, Pompeii.That would be a neat trip—to see the ashen bodies and ruined structures of Pompeii.

She also walked outside for a minute.She stumbled over the fountain, and got a grass stain on her pants.She was so relieved that Travis was not there to witness it.

They found each other in the gift shop.They both ogled the merchandise, and Travis picked up a shirt: “This is pretty cool.”He saw the price tag: “Holy fuck, never mind.”

Christina grabbed a shark stuffed animal: “How cute! I love sharks.Too bad their reputations are ruined now because of a certain…film.”

Travis, Jaws still on his mind, added, “It was a good movie.It made people scared of swimming pools.”

“You’d have more of a chance getting wrecked by an asteroid.”

“God, I hope.I’d love nothing more than an asteroid.”

“You would die too.And innocents.”

“That’s a sacrifice I can make.”

Christina chuckled as she put back the shark.“That’s so twisted, man.”

But Travis wasn’t laughing.He wasn’t entirely exaggerating.

They walked back into a long hallway, and Travis asked his companion: “Did you have fun?”

“Not as much as that root canal last week, but close enough.”

An amused Travis laughed in a low, toneless way not of a normal happy person.“I gotta say, you’re funny.”

Frowny Christina picked at her cuticles and said, “Thank you.Sorry again to offend you, Mr. Sanctimonious.”

Travis shrugged.“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Like I said, I’m happy when I do it my way.For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught.To say the things he truly feels…and not the words, of one who kneels.The record shows, I took the blows, and did it…my….way.”She repeated the lyrics to Frank Sinatra’s famous song without the singing inflections.

“I like you,” Travis said.

“I think I like you too.”

“You think, or you know?”

She turned her head to hide her pink cheeks, and then noticed something.She pointed to a painting in a small exhibit across from them.“Behold, our last hurrah: the medieval paintings.”

Travis walked closer to see.“Medieval literature is the best.I take you for a Dante’s Inferno man.It’s my favorite book…well, after George Orwell’s books,” Christina said.“It’s about a man’s venture through hell.You can borrow my copy, if you would like.”

“I probably would like it, thanks.I’m not all too fond of reading about those with more of a life than me, and written with more talent than I have.It does nothing but feed my depression.”

“Of _course_ it does.”

He noticed she was standing farther away than he was.“What, are you scared of the painting?” With one hand to her back he roughly pushed her, and she stumbled close to it.He leaned in closer as well, and a female security guard snapped at him: “Sir, please step away.”The security guards made him paranoid.

He scowled at her but took a step back.The painting was, actually, of hell.The center focus was a giant demonic creature, vile and animalistic with slit eyes.He was feeding on plump human beings.Others were being tormented and tortured around him.Angels triumphed on top in the midst of clouds and cherubs.Flames licked his claw-like feet. 

The painting across from it had Mary with baby Jesus.The other side showed a saint blessing people.Yet another showed a crowned king on his throne.The various puddles long collecting in his mind took form into its own painting of sorts.Travis was deep in his study of it all, his background finally drowned out. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Christina asked.

He smiled a shark-like grin that even she, the shark-lover, felt unsettled by.

“I got some good ideas in my head.”


	22. Christmas Spirit or Spirits?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: a chunk of text below)
> 
> Hello again, my good people. I sincerely hope you are all doing well out there right now.
> 
> So I think this is where I’ll bookend the “first volume,” it feels like the place to do so. I might be taking a bit of a break writing and submitting chapters, but I have most of the chapters planned and a lot of things already written down, so it’s no biggie. I’d say we’re halfway through now.
> 
> I know what you’re thinking: wtf Crucifixation, halfway?? I know. I’m sorry this fic is so long, I really am. But I have never before been this motivated with a large, long fic, and this dedicated to detailing it and finishing it. Trust me, while I don’t have the chapter number labelled yet, I know the amount of chapters I want and I’m going to finish this baby. I keep getting more and more ideas, which is why the chapters are becoming longer (again, sorry). It’s all coming together. I may upload another chapter after this soon, but for right now, this is my pitstop. Not only do I need to gather my thoughts and organize more of the fic, but I work at home and I’m just busy in general, so I of course need time for that at the moment. But once I get into my groove, the chapters will be submitted faster, and possibly in clusters. The second half really kicks things up, so buckle in.
> 
> I’ve been working on this thing since November of last year, when this fandom was still small and mostly abandoned (but with great stories!). This is the kind of story that takes much care and thought to write, especially the later chapters. I also tend to be slow and steady in my work anyway. But, like I said, I’m not going to draw it out either. Things should get on a roll soon. 
> 
> This started as a mere fun experiment with what I could do with a Taxi Driver (a movie I love dearly, if you can’t tell) setting, and it’s grown into so much more. I hope you’re enjoying it as well. I’m surprised it’s even gotten this many kudos and hits so far. And don’t be afraid to review—I love it and it’s super helpful. Like, I love y’all that have commented/supported me and this story so far, seriously. I don’t really write ocs typically, but I know I’ve always liked them—though many do not, and I am aware. That makes this story even more of an experiment as I explore the non-canon elements and characters while knowing it’s a little unpopular. I’m finally getting a good hang of Adam, and if you find Christina unlikable, no worries, she’s supposed to be, at least at first. I specifically didn’t want to write them as immediately lovable, interesting, cliche figures. They both become much more important for the story as it continues.
> 
> Also, I know the subject matter is a bit extreme, dare I say slightly unrealistic at times, and may not be for everyone. I’m trying to follow the guidelines Scorsese and Schrader already set. I believe one of them said “Taxi Driver is not a realistic movie,” which I thought was interesting. So there’s always that element of the extreme, the surreal, and the symbolism in this story along with the more normal, daily life sorts of topics. Since Travis is mostly the narrator, that also adds to the weirdness and discomfort of it as he views life from his unique perspective. I have “Politics” and “Philosophy” tagged, and it shows up many times in this story as well as religion, as you can probably tell by now. Thus, let me put a little disclaimer:
> 
> When a character talks about their worldview, I am in no way suggesting that I personally support or have that worldview or that people who are like these characters must be everyone who has that worldview. It’s just how I imagine they would each think and try to understand their environment, as every person does in the real world. And the events I write have no correlation with current events—again, they’re only my ideas with a bit of influence from the outside. No self-inserts here. No offense given. I felt like I needed to clear that up before going on haha.
> 
> This chapter has a small bite of journal POV in it, because that hasn’t been visited lately. I have so many characters now, I need the third-person to describe them. But Travis’s first-person voice ain’t gone, folks.
> 
> Much love. Keep on Truckin’.

December 24, 1976

“Peace on Earth” they call it.If only that was true.

I’d give anything for a bit of peace right now.In my life, in others’ lives, all over this damn world.But we can’t have that, can we? We all have to be tortured by that cruel bitch Miss Fortune before the lights go out and we’re nothin but dust and bones.Something animals can eat and shit out.

And those in poverty…man.They wouldn’t understand our consump-tive seasonal greed.

But New York City has been a little more peaceful lately, I admit.It’s that Christmas spirit, they say.The city seems to have paused its wickedness for this holy, happy time.Maybe it’s to help us feel better in this mass prison.All of Manhattan is decorated to the nines with lights and colors and wreaths.The festive colors outshined the usual dullness.There were trees, and the biggest was in Times Square.They actually cleaned some of the streets against buildings with wild holly.The shops were either packed with people or empty of their contents.Business was up even in this gas shortage and hard time.Ships were at the harbor.

Santas were ringing their bells; the homeless, medical workers, and veterans were asking for money, every once in a while you’d see a mini tree or a menorah in the window, and holiday food smells of many different cultures were abun-dent, abundant.Some played trumpets in the street.

There was a lot more music playing too, but mostly classical, jazz, and old time or big band music.From around the 20s to the 60s, I’d say.If you wanted to listen to the recent songs, you had to typically buy records from a store that sold them.

Even the citizens were cheerier.Instead of being vile, dirty, cynical beings they were laughing and joking with family.Shopping and seeing movies.Children playing.One guy walking out of a porno theater had an even bigger grin on his face.It brought a better mood out of so many, like it was a spiritual thing.

Of course, it also meant a hell of a lot more tourists.

It was supposed to be the restive, fun part of the year and us taxi drivers were totally booked.Back and forth I had to take visitors to their favorite sites, spots, and hotels.My passengers, they laugh, they bicker, they tell me where to fuck off, or they’re dead quiet.One lady confessed to me she was suicidal, and I tried my best to comfort her.I had to drive through a riot in one neighborhood.My cab also almost stopped in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge.As did my heart.I figure I may need to give it a break.

Yesterday I saw the Holland group again.I found the inn by photographic memory.

I knew I needed to wear something nice this time, and maybe a bit more festive.So, giving into these dumbass cornball Christmas guidelines, I combed my hair and put on a red and dark green plaid shirt.Over it, I put on my red corduroy jacket I wore when I met Betsy.It now seemed tighter though, and was faded.I picked at this small moth-bitten tear in it.I need me some new fancy clothes.I just don’t think about that kind of thing.

The inn was still polished.It was still standing—though not as many people were there.I was welcomed back by Raynard, who happened to be sitting in the lobby.He gestured me over to the hallway.

We walked back into the meeting board room where I saw the others last time.The door had a a golden wreath.

Brad Ackley the businessman looked up from his newspaper to greet me: “Long time, no see! How’s it going, Travis?”

“Oh pretty good.”

“That’s great.Fantastic.”

“Are you looking forward to next year?” Asked D.B., another high-profile man who knew everything about the Rule of Law.

“I hope it’s better than this year.”

“Wow, you look sharp. I could take a ride on that smooth face of yours right here,” said Sophia Jeffries, a fiery-haired woman with a fiery attitude and who was quite flirty and seductive.

“Oh…ok.”

She giggled, and Raynard said, laughing, “Calm down, Soph.It’s not a sport.You’ll have to excuse her, she tries to get every young man into her bed.”

“She kills em afterwards—you know, like those black widows,” Brad teased, and she playfully slapped his leg.

“Is there any more news, concerns, anything for us that you have, Travis?” D.B. questioned.

I took out the seat I had in the previous session, and discussed with them the robbery.

“Hmm.That’s odd.I’d say it was someone playing a trick on you,” Raynard said.

“A trick? That would be one fucking trick.” 

There was no one I knew who would rob me, even at their most desperate.First, I didn’t know that many people, and second, the ones I did know didn’t seem the “type.”And I’m a damn good undestand-er of people by now.Usually, when somebody breaks in, they’re the ones you know, not strangers.But I would shoot any stranger who messed with my sparse belongings.

“We don’t rob our own children, Mr. Bickle.Don’t misconstrue and dishonor us by accusing us of such…such low crimes.We are put on this earth to help; only to help.”Brad’s eyes were sad.

“To help,” they all chanted at once.Creepy.

“Well _someone_ did, and left a horse for me to find.A horse, guys.Care to explain that?”

“The person liked horses,” D.B. said and shrugged.

“Likely a woman.Crazy women are always horse gals,” Sophia told me with a snicker.

They continued to deny any involvement and said that I was paranoid.It was just a low-brow criminal as common to my environment as butterflies to a garden.Slimy butterflies.

But I knew something was up, and they weren’t telling me the whole truth.They best hope they don’t find a bullet meeting their face if they are not careful.

Regardless, I changed the subject to tell them of my plan that has been growing and piecing together in my mind for a good long while.It was already in place, moving about.

“What a great plan, Travis.You really are going to change this place from the inside out.Makes me proud.I hope it goes through,” Raynard was more supportive than I thought anyone at all would be.

“Yes, please tell us how we can help,”Brad joined in.

They leaned over, and I whispered the ideas—growing, but getting there.

I’m not tellin you yet, sorry.

I showed them the papers.They oohed and patted my shoulder.I felt much better and more confident about it now, as I was pretty nervous as the months came closer to when it was supposed to happen.Supposed to.I’m more nervous than usual.

You know what I mean?

I slouched back into my chair, and felt suddenly depressed after the high I got from receiving approval.Raynard noticed my dreary hush and asked: “Everything good?”

“Yeah.I guess I’m a little tired.” I rubbed my head, which was hurting, and I’m sure my dark under-eyes were telling everyone that I was tired.

“We have a file saying you have insomnia,” Raynard told me.

“I’m sure you do.Well I got 6 hours of sleep last night, that’s pretty nifty for me.”

“Hmm.” Raynard seemed to be deep in thought.

“We want you to shape up to be a good leader,” Brad said.“And to do that, you need supporters.Consider us your first.You also need a villain, or villains.The opposition.Getting opposition is easy…but to get a good villain, sometimes…you have to create them.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“An antagonist is someone who foils the hero.I think a good antagonist of any story is one who carries in their _being_ every reason why the hero or the leader is more successful.”

“The bad has to feed off the good, too.The energies have to contradict _and_ work together.” Sophia added.

“What about heroes? They should be likable or no one would give a rat’s ass,” D.B. said.

“I prefer the anti-heroes, myself.Everyone loves a good Byronic hero,” Brad looked at me when he said that.

“Meh.It’s a rare trope now, but it’ll end up overdone.Trust me,” Sophia said.“A leader has to be the hero everyone calls on, but in a certain respect fears, too.He has to create the villain just so he can ‘save’ everyone…even when they don’t want to be saved.”

“Guys, I think you’re only befuddling our new rising star.Travis, has anything we have done or said to you since we met inspired you to go further with what you have just shown to us?” Raynard said this and the other three waited for my answer.

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t feel like I’m making a difference, not at all.I don’t see changes in the city, not on earth.Not BELOW the earth, not ABOVE it.I don’t want to run around like the chickens you people cut the heads off of…” I then wondered what it would be like to have my head chopped off, and I felt my neck.“I want to know what I’m doin is right.I want to find the correct signs, like you guys use, to bring bigger people down than just pimps.And what did ever come of that? Where did the rest all hide to? Are there more children and young adults being exploited out there, and I can’t do shit about it because I have to be normal to be taken seriously? I can’t think about fucking bedtime ghost stories or whatever the fuck you three are talking about.This is reality, not an elementary play.If I’m nothing but a sheep to my slaughterers, how do I become a lion?”

Brad and D.B. were the confused ones now.I have a problem with..saying my feelings, and making it sound sensi-ble.

“What I mean is, I can’t do it alone.I’ve always been underestimated.To be a leader, I have to somehow wake others up to the fact that they also will be targeted by the villain, and only with a shared vision can we rise up and take back control, so all of the Irises of the world can know they’re safe because I actually did something.Apparently I’m supposed to do all this from my taxi? You’re the ones who don’t make no sense, man.”

“Go out and meet others.Simple as that.Don’t be scared of it.Is failure and fear going to be your villains?” Sophia clicked her tongue.

Brad spoke: “A villain hates people.They love glory, power, money, sex, and anything that reflects back unto themselves.They want to shape the past and present for their version of the future, just like you.But the difference is they’re going to do it with _flair_.Are you going to allow that, or even become that, Travis? Do you hate people?”

“N-no.”

“So start with the littlest thing you can do to help.Add some good to your conscience.Like we said, we’re your first supporters, so move on from us.You’ll find yourself building and building from that good.”

I guess I did recently donate to a few things.Charity is a leader’s trait, right?

“Let me speak to Travis alone.”Raynard got up and the others left obediently like they had some chip in their brains.I always knew it would be the credit cards who carried the chip, or the “Mark of the Beast,” as my parents called it.

“The lesson of the day: make a good story to go along with your good leadership.”

He talked to me about very peculiar things regarding the secrets of the city, its structure, and how the Holland group contributes.We talked more about the hero/villain dynamic, and he scolded me for my earlier rambling and suspicion.He said I had a hero complex but I was making it sound crazy, incoherent, and misinformed.

“You may sound like a schizo, buddy.”He also asked me who the most memorable villain in my life was so far, and I thought of Sport. 

Then Raynard brought out a TV and monitor I have never seen before.

I pointed to the screen that was showing accelerating light waves, in the same kinda style as I saw in the hospital after I woke up from the coma, my vital signs shown on something technological.“Can you tell me what that is?” I asked.

“Gladly.This is what is called the Schumann Resonance. It is the sound of the earth’s vibration across its dimensional spheres along with its movements and electromagnetism.That is low, ionic radio frequency from our earth you are hearing, and in some ways, seeing.It connects to the alpha and theta brainwaves alongside the beta to put both your conscious and subconscious selves at ease.The more we change, the more this changes,” he gestured to the screen.The screen had the numbers “4” and “3” in close quarters to the other.43.My number.My mouth felt dry.

“I’ll turn it up for you.” Raynard grabbed a controller and turned a dial, causing the vibrating sound to increase.It was a low hum that I immediately felt transfixed by.Its sound was affecting my body and head.Instead of fearing the planet, I felt almost rocked to sleep by it.

“It is a relaxing sound,” I said.

“People are starting to use it for that reason.Mostly the new age and young, you know.It is meditative, so I’m sure the Indian religions are more familiar with it.”

Whenever I thought of India and meditation together, I thought of acid-tripping, hippie, orgy sex cults made up mostly of white men and women (oh how far we’ve fallen) somewhere in a mountain with malaria carrying mosquitos.I felt nausea simply thinking about it.Yet I did like this resonance, this universal song.

I left in a hurry when I remembered what I wanted to do tonight.

Well, perhaps I can tell you a little bit more of what’s going on.But, I’m on my last page of this journal and I’m trying to squeeze in to the last corners.Oh fuck, I’m almost there.I need a new-

———————————————

On that same day before, December 23, Adam and Shawn were walking along the dirt road trying to warm their red, cold hands in their jacket pockets.New York was a whole other animal in winter, which had only just begun.

They were returning from Shawn’s house where they had listened to records, played Dungeons & Dragons (a newer tabletop game they enjoyed), exchanged gifts (both involved some sort of prank), and _obviously_ watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.They flipped through sex magazines while alone, and Shawn’s mother had made them fudge.

Adam savored every bite.They also got to see Shawn’s father, a powerful city police officer named Josiah Elmers.Now they were walking to Christina’s uncle’s house and land in Athens, the long road making the cold colder.Adam promised that he would help out while he was on Christmas break, and Shawn begrudgingly agreed to join.Why would you finally get a break from school, and dive right back into work? But it was for his friend.

Christina was piddling around in her Uncle Franco’s kitchen, washing and clearing it.The TV, which always played soccer games in either Spanish or English, was on.So was the radio, and it was playing “Feliz Navidad,” the only Christmas tune that Christina remotely liked.She had to polish a rooster vase of utensils before alerting her uncle that she would go take care of the animals outside.

She was visiting him for a few days, including on Christmas—therefore neither would be alone.Christina had no issue being alone, but Uncle Franco had little friends and no love interests.He had his son, her cousin, out of wedlock, and he would die in Vietnam.She knew it was the right thing to do to be with him and help him out.After all, he was the one who took her in when she first came to New York.

He had animals that needed some extra care, and Christina was happy to do so.There were chickens, dogs, three pigs, and a llama.The llama’s name was Alfalfa and his shorn wool was often made into fabrics and yarn.When she visited the first time, she was always afraid he would bite her or something.

Adam liked going into Athens.It was a small, old village near mountains, a lake -“Sleepy Hollow Lake,” and the shoreline.There was a meager amount of fertile farm land, where Franco Valdez was settled.

Soon enough, the two boys were standing back at two barking German shepherds that Christina commanded to sit to be brushed.A pig’s loud snort scared Shawn.Adam scratched one pig, which stopped chewing to roll over and let him scratch all over.Laughter ensued.

“I wish we could have pets in my apartment,” he said.

“They’d piss on your carpet,” Shawn retorted.

“You can train em, though.”

“Somehow I doubt you have that amount of time and patience.”

Christina started: “Try breeding them.I mean, don’t literally try it, don’t breed dogs, but I had to help a breeder once clean out their supply metal freezer.There were jars in it.Let me just say what was in those jars-“

“Ok thanks for the info, Christina,” Adam cut off.

She smirked as they walked by the llama.Alfalfa spat on Adam and Shawn went into another laughing fit.Christina was still just smirking.

“It’s pretty cool, what you do,” Shawn complimented her.

“If I’m cool, the Arctic Ocean is warm.Have you ever thought about the link of neutrality to free will?”

“Christina, tell us about that guy you had as a professor in college.”Adam’s mind was all over the place today.Iris and his father was like a specter hanging over his joy and he would do anything to distract from it, even listening to the same old stories again.

“Mr. Kern?”

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Kern was the strictest professor there.He could rip up a student’s project and make them cry.My friend and I, RJ, liked watching him, even if we were afraid of him.He would yell, he would mope, he would make you feel inadequate.At one point, we both stayed after class, and he helped us on our proposals….somehow, one thing led to another, and he admitted that he was in a deep depression.He didn’t feel life was worth living anymore.Me and RJ did our best to be kind to him after that, and give him some humor.So we ended up bonding with our instructor, and the meanest bastard, at that.”

Adam and Shawn smiled at that story.

“And yeah, it made me feel good.Apparently it made him feel good too, until the day he did not show up in his class, and then another.We discovered he fractured his neck trying to hang himself.He had to quit from that, I think….Anyways, great guy.We all have our hidden depths.”Shawn’s smile faded.Adam forgot about that part.

Christina sighed.“Ah, RJ.You know the best thing about RJ was..” Now Adam was rolling his eyes.Not this dude again.Every time she talked about him, it was as if it was her long lost lover, and not a school friend. 

“..the best thing about him was that he could hit the very tendons of your soul.He was a sensitive type, and a musician.He tried to show me how to play guitar, and I never was good at it, but I still have a guitar to this day.Every word he spoke I felt in my core, and I knew we understood each other.He was not of this world, and I loved it.I could feel my life source slowly slipping from my body with each….each whisper of wisdom and empathy that came out of him or that he sung…”

Shawn thought she was being unusually emotional with her words: “Damn.”

But she smirked again to signify she was exaggerating for the sake of humor and to poke fun at those who get dramatic over others: “No, he was a loser.But he was _my_ loser.”

Adam had heard differently, though.He was certain she had fallen hard for him and still had a problem letting go of this person.

He turned to Shawn: “Who do you think your dad was talking to on the phone earlier? He sounded ticked off.”

“I have no idea, man.He was kind of weird the another night after work, too.All I know is that he met with a woman that day…a ‘difficult woman’ he said.”

“Well there’s tons of them around,” said Adam.

“Ha, I know.I guess we should start working now.I’m gonna smash your teeth into a wall if I get back home at like, midnight because you made us wait.”

The next day was Christmas Eve, and Adam showed up to the state fair in Syracuse.They were having a kind of winter festival where sellers could offer their handmade products in the House of Yesteryear, games could be played, and there was a place for ice skating and running races.There was a light snowfall when he arrived, but wasn’t covering ground yet.

He tried to get in further and a man stopped him: “Do you have a ticket, sir?”

“Uh, yeah,” he pulled a crumpled ticket out of his pocket, “Here.”

He had to wait in a long line of people getting in, bouncing on his cold toes.His nose was probably red by now. 

Nah, he thought—he’s an Italian.They practically warm themselves.

His mother had dropped him off, and on the way there, he spotted an old cabin that she said was used by George Washington during the Revolutionary War.That caught his attention more than any boring history class did.

 _I wonder if Iris was ever here_ , he thought, and then flinched on instinct.Why oh why did that come into his head. 

It was more crowded and more fun in the summer and fall, but they let it be open for this or a flea market.Adam was pushed around a few times, but he had hardly a spiteful bone in his lanky body.

He entered the House of Yesteryear, and saw art pieces and objects galore.There were paintings, weavings, baskets, corn husk dolls, tools, weapons, jewelry, brushes, pots and pans, lace, herbs and spices, pipes, and glass wear.It smelled like hay and rosemary.There was heat warming the place, radiating off of old stoves.Most of the sellers were dressed in old fashion, anywhere from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries.

He passed by an old man with a beard and in a rocking chair, smoking his pipe.“Good day, sonny.”

Adam nodded.He passed by another old man who looked worn and scarred.He had an eyepatch, a cane, a classical pistol around his waist, a belt draping his shoulder, and was wearing a kilt with a pirate-like shirt.

The best thing about it: he didn’t even appear to be dressed up.God, Adam hoped he would age to become that man.

He passed by some women knitting and a family selling their soaps when he stopped at the destination he was trying to get at in the first place.

There was a table full of wood carvings, of many different things.It wasn’t all old: some of the things were more modern.He had to stifle a laugh when he saw who was behind the table.

Christina stood there decked in a full-on Civil War-era dress.It was grey and white, with black fringes hanging off of the shoulders, and dainty black swirl designs on the collar.The dress reached to the floor and her long sleeves that went to her wrists were buttoned and billowy.

“Well howdy there, Mr. Lincoln.”

“Excuse me, my good sir…do we know each other?”

“You look…you look…great,” he chuckled.“Holy crow.”

“It wasn’t my choice…I fit into the atmosphere here.That good ol’ days atmosphere, of dying from cholera or getting your limb sawed off in war.I think I look quite dignified, myself.”She smelled of some sort of minty scent and her short hair was lightly curled at the temples.“At least it’s historically accurate, ok.”

Adam had not once, ever, seen Christina wear a dress, a skirt, or anything resembling those things.He thought it almost would be a paradox to have them all in connection with one another.Surely all logic and existence were about to crumble at any moment.

Christina crossed her arms.“Are you going to buy some fucking wood or not?”

“Maybe, maybe not.I came to see what this was all about this year—Mom dropped me off.I wish they had a skiing event or something,” Adam fantasized as if this could be the Winter Olympics if they would cater to his hopes…he just needed to say please.

“I don’t think your carvings are all ‘historically accurate,’ though.”

“We’ll say it’s a modern twist.They might notice, they might not.Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”She hoarded all of her most useless wooden carvings to sell at a place she knew there would be a lot of buyers.She had sold a handful already.

They both heard a few gasps in the crowd.

“Pardon me, young man, I’d like to see this table,” a strong, familiar voice said to Adam from behind.Adam walked out of the way for him.

He couldn’t believe it for a moment, but there he was.Charles Palantine.

Christina stood straight as ever and welcomed him.“How nice of you to visit, Senator.Tell me if you see anything you like.”She was trying to sound as professional and calm as humanly possible.

He glanced over it for a while, but didn’t buy anything.Christina loosened her collar.He finally saw a carving of a podium, and said, “How adorable is this? My wife would love it.How much?”

“Um…25 dollars.”

“Excellent,” he paid her, and then asked, “Are you a carpenter?”

“No, it’s mainly a hobby.”

“Hmph.I really thought you were.I’m in need of a new, freshly carved mahogany desk, but I can’t seem to find a good carpenter I trust around here.If you gave me your contact information, we might could work something out.”He sighed, “But you’re not a professional, and that’s fine.”

Adam widened his eyes. 

“C-certainly.I can mail you…s-something, I’m sure.”

“Great! I’d love to find someone who could do the job.It was great meeting you, Miss…?”

“Valdez.”

“Miss Valdez.Have a good day.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Would you call yourself a progressive?”

Adam’s eyes opened wider. 

“…I would, yes,” Palantine was caught off-guard by that, but still managed to smile his winning smile and walk off, having to greet everyone else.

 _That’s what I thought._ She was disappointed.

“Holy shit,” Adam whispered once he left.“That was Charles Fuckin’ Palantine! He was here!” Adam tried to look around for the Secret Service.

“Yes it was.”Her nerves were released with an out-hale breath.

“And you just questioned him like that? Where did that come from?”

“I wanted to hear his answer, is all.Celebrities and politicians aren’t exempt from my questions.”

“So are you gonna take his offer?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Adam shifted his eyes, confused.

“Of course I will.”

“Sweeet! But I don’t think you can carve a whole desk…and for a famous politician…that’s a whole lotta responsibility.”

“Don’t remind me,” she sighed.

“Meh, you can do it.You can do it.”He tried to motivate her with his characteristic perkiness, and while he was her opposite she did like to hear a person who didn’t whine, only pushed on.“Big pay in it too, I bet.”She needed a big pay to send back to her cancer-stricken mother.

Adam repeated: “Christina, _you just met Charles Palantine!_ ”

“It’s like sitting at the cool kids’ table…if I knew what that was like.”

She would have to find out more about where the new headquarters were, and what the situation would be. _If_ she agreed, that is.She only gave that answer to Adam to placate him.

She put a sign on her table to signify she was taking a break.She and Adam decided to walk around outside, where snow was finally touching the ground.

They glanced around.Adam noticed that cabbie who came in once—that time he told Christina of the legal papers incident.What was his name? Wizzy?

“Wizard,” she reminded him.“Yeah, that was it. I knew it was something cheesy.”

He and his wife were playing a game together.They didn’t approach him, but watched them for a second.Though it was an impossible wish in this sort of place, Christina could not help but secretly wish Doughboy or Travis were there as well.

Adam, however, was relieved that Travis WASN’T there.It made his innards twist just to think about it again.You think you know a guy.

“Hey…” he began.“I’ve been um, I’ve been not feeling too right about some things, about some people recently…” He was prepared to spill those innards in this very fair, though it was far from his therapist’s office.

Christina waited for him to go on.“And, and I just…I just think some guys are hard to trust, ya know…I want to like a certain person, but that person is…”

“Uh huh.”

“Well that person is, gosh I don’t know.Never mind.”He couldn’t do it.

“Have you been feeling watched again? Is someone bothering you?” Christina knew about his fear of being watched, and his Mafia sightings.

“No, I mean, kind of.But…no.”

“That’s helpful.”

“Sorry, I just…like I said, I don’t know.I’m talking out of my ass at this point, so I’ll stop.I’m done.”

“It’s healthy not to trust everyone, Adam.Don’t beat yourself up over it.Especially if the mob is after you…they might try to pull a Colombian necktie.”

“What’s that?”

She mocked slitting her own throat and pulling her tongue out of the wound. 

“Argh, please don’t,” he begged her to stop.That wasn’t helping.

But Christina wasn’t done yet: “I saw this woman the other day, a beautiful woman.She had these curves..” Christina accentuated with her hands going over her body imaginary breasts and hips.

“Hot,” Adam said.

“Right.She was complaining to her boyfriend about her body—how much she hated it, how she wanted to be skinnier…and I’m thinking, sweetie, I wouldn’t usually say things like this, but you’re a stunner—unlike me—and you should enjoy it before you’re a wrinkled old bag.Don’t hate yourself for it.So she then goes on about how she wants surgery to make herself look better, specifically, a boob job.

And I thought to myself, I should do it.I think I have a natural calling to rip off breasts.I want to do that! So I became a plastic surgeon, and she ended up being my first patient.

All the sudden, she starts screaming! I told her be calm, hold still, I’m a professional.And with my hacksaw I took off her arm to reach her chest, and with my meat hook I took off all the rest.”

“I ain’t done it!” Christina shouted in a redneck pitch, “I gave her a head job instead!” She waved around an invisible decapitated head.“I’ll give it to her boyfriend; he can have fun with it for hours…so you see, she was really beautiful and desirable after all—inside _and_ out.”

She cackled and slapped her knee, with a few passers-by staring at her.Once she noticed, Christina became quiet and unemotional again like a switch.

But after Adam walked into the main path of crowds, Christina stayed there for another moment.She grinned at her own half-rhymed routine.“Yeees.”

Adam squeezed through the crowd, and ended up slipping on some ice, but caught himself. He made a game out of it.The possibility of death had no affect on Adam—he slid around on fresh and black ice, skating around people who had to stop and try to avoid him.He himself had to stop once he almost tripped over someone’s band equipment.

Christina slowly walked through the crowd in her dress, easing herself through every person who surrounded her like they were of little importance.There was more confidence in her stride now that Palantine offered her work.She lifted up her petticoats to avoid the mud and ice, and her boot crunched what was left.

They wanted to take one of those old-timey Western photos, where it was in black and white and they framed and titled it in the same way.Christina had to go into a stall and change, which took eons and a whole lot of limb strength she had no idea she even had.She felt much more “herself” once she was back into her normal clothes and the dress was packed in a suitcase.They changed into cowboy costumes and posed on the saloon bar set with fake guns and gold in hand.Adam had a fit getting out of a vest, but the experience was fun. 

“I should hang this in the main room,” Adam said while looking at the framed photo—their faces were serious and criminal-like.“We kind of look somewhere in between ‘don’t fuck with us’ robbers and like those Victorian kids when they died and they took photos of them afterwards, in living poses.What’s it called?”It gave him the creeps, but it was sad, too.

Christina leaned over.“Post-mortem? I can see it.Not a very happy thought, however.” She was so used to being compared to somebody dead, that comment didn’t even faze her.

“You know what? I’m gonna try to be happier.I’m gonna try to be kind and not have fear and doubt ruin my relationships.”

Christina blinked, unaffected.“Dr. Belinsky says I’m really improving.I’m so much better than I was even a few years ago.Isn’t that awesome?”

Nothing.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say, hell yeah, Adam, that _is_ awesome! I’m right behind you in thick or thin or _something._ ”He desperately needed support right now.

“I’m behind you, I always am.”There was something frosty like the air in the way it came out.

Adam sighed.“I only want a friend, Christina.”

“I am your friend.Did I not just literally prove that to you,” she pointed to the picture.“Don’t tell me what to do or what to say.Especially if I think you might get hurt from this…optimism.”

“Well you better get used to being told what to do if you work for old Charlie.”

“What’s your problem?” A low anger had entered her voice.

“What’s yours?? I’m gonna go ice skate.You can get back to what you were doing.”

“Very well.See you.”

“Yeah.”He wanted to get away from her for a little bit, and be by himself.The ice rink was emptier now, and he was excited to glide on it after his test run on the grounds.He forgot how slippery it was.

“Shit!” He yelled as he nearly took a nose dive into bone-breaking ice within the first minute, tops.He grabbed the sides, face white.The klutziness would not leave him so easily, oh no.

He skated until he became more comfortable, and not moving at the speed of his Nonna.Shawn would probably call him gay for ice skating, but it did take a lot of strain.It was at least better than roller-skating to disco.Now _that_ was fruity, he thought.

He saw a woman ahead.She was struggling, so he glided over and took her hand.“I got ya, Miss.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise at him.“Oh, why _thank_ you.I’m…ugh, I’m trying.You can probably tell.I thought taking ballet when I was younger would help me.”

Adam first noticed that she was gorgeous.She had natural blonde hair, she was tall, had a nice figure, and piercing blue eyes.Then it came to him where he recognized her from.She was looking at him in that way too.

It was the blonde woman who almost ran him over in the street that day when he wandered around in upper Manhattan, disturbed from the alley scene. 

She recognized him as the boy she almost ran over on the way back from work, disturbed from the news of the killings in Travis’s ghetto.

Betsy and Adam suddenly unlocked hands.They kept a safe distance from one another as Betsy thanked him again.Adam wondered if something was special about her, if he had run into her twice.

Meanwhile, Christina was leaning against a tree in the wooded area of the park.Snow had blanketed everything, and was still falling in a light pour.A man with curly hair and glasses approached her.“Hey there.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, I know this is going to seem like a really, really weird request…but would you race me?”

“Race you? Like as in running?”

“Yes.Like I said, I know it’s random but I want to practice for the snow races soon, and I need someone to…well, you know, race me.What better place than here? Heh…”

“What’s your name?”

“Tom.You don’t have to, I just thought I’d need the practice if I wanted to win.Maybe you’ll have the time of your life, you never know.” Tom was trying to joke and ease the tension.

“Actually, I _would_ love to run and prevent from freezing to death.I am simply _overjoyed_.”

“I said you didn’t have to.”

“I’ll race you.Is it just for yourself that you want to win…or are you trying to impress someone?”

“Impress someone.”

She nodded and smiled a little, but both were socially awkward at the moment. 

They lined up next to each other and stretched.Tom hoped he wouldn’t slip in the snow.

“We’ll start when I say go, and reach to the end of the park.”

“Okay.”

“And….go!”

Tom ran as fast as he could, which was actually quite fast considering how much of the summer he spent running every morning.He had to win this big race later…he had to.

He was running until he finally noticed that he could not see his rival anywhere.She must have fallen back behind…or she left him.Oh well, he was on the winning streak now.

He stopped suddenly to heave, when he heard a bush rustle.Christina had at last caught sight of him again, and was zoning in on him in a swift break.Tom thought something was almost wolf-like in her serious stare down of his body, and he was a bit freaked out as he started running again.Christina was chasing him down like he was a hog.He jumped to one side and tricked her out, causing her to get her pant leg caught on a crystallized thorn branch, and she was trying to tug it off.God’s sake, he thought, it was just a test run.

Tom felt the cold breeze welcoming his return to the opening spot of the park and he grinned.He was going to ace this thing. 

Right when he was just barely close enough to take one leap and win, he started slipping on the snow and ice.“Dammit! Whoa!”

He managed to steady himself, and sigh in relief.Then he was knocked to the ground with an unexpected force.

Strong-as-an-ox Christina had zeroed in on her hunt and linebacker tackled him.The more frail Tom didn’t even see it coming.Next thing he knew his glasses came off and his face hit the biting freeze of new snow.

“What…the FUCK,” he rubbed the snow out of his red face.“Is WRONG with you!!!”

“Sorry man…I thought it would be fun.” Christina panted.

“WELL IT WAS-“ Tom rejected her hand to help him up: “-IT WASN’T”

“Ah! You said it was! For a brief second there you said it was.”

Tom stood up and brushed white off of his thick, neon jacket.“You’re lucky I’m not the suing type.”

“I’ve been sued before.”

“Gee, I wonder why…fucking hell.Thanks anyway, I guess for…doing _somewhat_ what I asked.I think I’m gonna do real well on that race.”

Christina chortled.He spoke about this race like it was his first time getting laid.She understood that drive to win, but—it still amused her.

With that mix of amusement, competitiveness, and the thought of him getting laid, there was something now in her eyes that had gone from bored, to wolf-like, to a little sadistic.

“I hope you win.I’m sorry if I hurt you-“

“You didn’t!” Tom defended fiercely.His cheeks were still red and he had the sweat and pant, which only further reminded Christina of something.

“I’m still sorry though…to get you all hot and bothered like that…I tend to have that effect.”She lightly chewed her fingernail.

Tom glowered at her.

“But what can I say? I like the nerdy ones.” She pulled down her glasses and winked at him. 

Tom was so disturbed he had to leave immediately without another word.He shook his head and took off.Christina was pleased with herself, even if she ruined yet another social situation.

Hey, this was all testing grounds for her, too!

—————————————————

Pittsburgh was even more showered with the Christmas spirit than New York City.

It was a sunny day on that Christmas Eve afternoon in Pennsylvania, but it was beginning to get dark early.At the Steensma house, a luncheon with some of the school board’s mothers had taken place, and they brought their daughters and one son with them.

They had played games, eaten snacks, and talked.The teenagers and kids were currently in the living room, doing a gift wrap and exchange ritual.They were goofing off, and Iris’s friend Dina was the most exuberant—she captured the attention of the whole room.

She showed off her perfectly wrapped gift, with Frosty the Snowman icons on it.Iris’s had Rudolph, but she felt more like The Grinch.Being called “Irate Iris” hammered that in.

Iris slowly folded the papers, but it only looked like a mess by the time she was done.A taped, ripped mess of a gift.She tried to undo it, but a very bossy girl warned: “Don’t do that! Leave it like it is.Try it on something else, and this time don’t use so much tape and waste it for the rest of us, genius.”

“It wasn’t sticking together right.”

The girl scoffed loudly: “Yeah, I can see that,” she not only eyed the messy gift, but Iris too, as if the 14 year old former prostitute was also not “sticking together right.”

Iris felt her face go red as a tomato and she leaned it down to prevent others from seeing it.Anger filled her heart and she blinked back the moist feeling in her eyes.Her fists clenched.

She had to think the violent thoughts away, but it was hard.She didn’t realize she was biting into her lip when the sounds dimmed and the lights turned up.Her heart palpitated at those chewing termite memories and feelings that decided to come back to visit for the holiday.

She stared out and her ears rung.It was that faint ringing that she could never identify if it was from a head injury, dissociation, or that ear wax packed into her ears.She popped her ears as it rung her to a trance.

“Iris?”

“Iris!”

“Huh?”

Ivy used her finger to motion Iris over: “Come help me with this, please.”

Iris was glad to help.Anything to get away from these girls.Even Dina was disappointing her.

Everything they talked about was unimportant.It was the petty gossip, it was babbling.They were mean, and they thought their little lives were the real world—not a chance.They were in for a rude awakening.Iris just wanted to listen to the news, which was on. 

At the same time, Iris was glad they never experienced what she did.She almost envied them and their ignorance.They would get to become a woman like any normal American girl.There was so much less stress, so much less worry. 

Again, she wanted to be friendly with them, at the end of the day, she wasn’t much different….though _she_ was a woman by the time most of them still played with toys.

Iris wished she could just go out and skateboard or paint.This was too fru-fru for her, she told her mother.It _was_ the truth, but it was a _much_ lighter version of it.“Try and do your best to be a good sport, Irie,” she had said.In all honesty, Ivy never fit in completely with the local women either.They tended to judge her as either some kind of neglectful mother for “allowing”

her daughter to run away, or they constantly wanted to talk about it, good or bad.Ivy would rather hear the causal babble then have to hear one more word about her daughter’s suffering.

“Iris, come back in here!” Dina called.Iris received a gift from her one good girlfriend.“There’s no receipt, just a warning.”

Iris opened it.It was a t-shirt that had the “I Love NY” design but the heart was crossed out, apparently by paint.Iris laughed.“Oh my god…that’s brilliant!”

“Really? Thanks.I thought you’d like it.Fuck New York, ya know.”

“Totally.Thanks, Dina.” They hugged, and Iris had partially forgiven her.

Iris sat back down, trying her best to readjust herself and “take part.”Even if she didn’t, she knew it didn’t matter: she’d still be Iris Steensma.Right when she started to relax, her mother called her back.“Ugh, what now?!”

“Somebody wants to talk to you,” her mother handed her the phone in the kitchen. _Great_ , Iris thought, _talking to family members is the last thing I want to do._

She sighed: “Y-ello?”

“Hi Iris.Merry Christmas.”

She swallowed.It was Travis.

“Hi.Thanks, y-you too.”

“How have you been doin?”

“Uh, good, I guess.How about you?”

“As best as I can be.”

“Oh cool.So your job still hasn’t killed you yet?”

“Not yet.We’ll see by New Years.”

She laughed: “Oh yeah we will.”

“Do you miss me?” Travis teased.

“Everyday, my man.”

“Do you really?”

“I mean…sure, I miss you.”

There was an eerie silence on the other line.

“I certainly miss you,” he laughed through his nose and then stopped himself.“Are you having a good Christmas Eve?”

“Kinda.”

“What do you mean kinda? What happened?”

“Oh you know, stuffy little bitches at my house…pissing on me.”

“Pfft, they better not be.Tell those bitches that I’ll come over and sock em in their faces _and_ uteruses if they even try it with you again.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them! Thanks for calling, Travis.”

“No problem.Sorry I couldn’t send you a present…I’m savin money right now.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.I could care less.”

“That’s what I thought.You’re a special gal, Iris.Um…well, Merry Christmas again…and uh, hope you have a good one and you’re staying safe.”

“I am Travis.Thanks.Merry Christmas to you too!”

“One last thing—do you remember Sport’s last name? Matthew…what?”

Iris paused.The conversation was too good to last.“No, I do not.”

“Alright.I apologize for asking you that, but…but it was necessary, trust me.”

“I get it.Talk to you again soon, Travis.”Her tone was more serious.

“Ok.Bye Iris.”She hung up, thinking about what he said.

She was increasingly wanting that multi-flavored popcorn tin they had arrive at their house every December from her dad’s workplace.It had normal, cheddar, and caramel popcorn assorted into metal compartments.Binging on that in her stressed state sounded good about now, but she would have to wait until after dinner.Her father, Burt, had arrived home two weeks ago…Iris still wasn’t entirely sure where he went, and he told her not to question.

“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days…”

The girls screamed to turn the TV up, and Iris walked back in to sit on the couch.She had to keep trying.Happy Days might help.

———————————————

Christmas Eve night at the Giordano’s apartment was even more tense.

“How was the fair?” Mildred Giordano asked her son while scooping him a hefty plate of linguine and mussels with salad.She already asked him that in the car, but couldn’t get a straight answer out of him.

“Things happened.What am I supposed to say?”

“Was it _fun_?”

“Yeah it was.”

“That’s something, I guess.”

“Oh-Mom!”

“Yes my doll?”

“We saw Charles Palantine there! In the flesh!”

“Well I’ll be damned.He’s not too good for our fair, then.”

“Yeah, it was weird, because he came alone and had little security detail.”

“Maybe he wants to be normal.I saw Eisenhower coming out of a diner, once.”

They ate happily, Adam talking about various things with his mother, who for once listened intently to what he had to say.Her worries had eased after the Mass she attended earlier. 

The Nativity meant much to her and the hopes for her family.She lit red candles in their dark, shanty apartment as well as some wintery incense.After dinner, they ate a dessert of struffoli and panettone slices.Adam wolfed it down—it was one of his favorite parts of Christmas.

Another one of his favorite parts he started when his mother came back from the bathroom.He pulled out an old acoustic guitar.It was his grandfather’s, and he played tunes he knew on it every year.He strummed, got a hold of the beat, and began softly singing “Quanno nascette Ninno” or loosely, "When the Child was Born,” an Italian Christmas carol.Then he played and “sung” “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby.He wasn’t the best singer, but his guitar skills were surprisingly good.He laughed a few times in between, and had to keep a straight face.

Mildred clapped when he put down the guitar.“Beautiful, beautiful!St. Nick and La Befana both came through with that combo!”

Their Christmas tree was skinny and didn’t even have a star on it, but it looked pretty right now to Adam.He finally felt warmth again after a period of cold darkness.He tried not to pay attention to the large pile of money and various cards that came from mob families on their counter.The darkness had to be kept at bay.

“Mom? Did Dad ever love Christmas?”

“Of course he did.He always gave you presents and sledded with you, didn’t he?”

“I know.But, in his line of work, wouldn’t it seem too frivolous?”

“Perhaps.I, I don’t want to talk about him, Adam.”

“Why the hell not?? He’s my _father_.You’ve been hiding things from me, haven’t you, Mom?”

“No, I don’t think so.What are you _saying_ , son?”

“I’m saying…I’m saying you hid something from me, and I can _feel_ it.”

“Maybe you got some kinda condition.I should take you to the doctor-“

“YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.” Adam yelled and Mildred was in shock.She was about to threaten him back to his place when he continued.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His brown eyes drooped in sadness.“Why did you never tell me that he was the one Travis Bickle killed in that shootout?”

She sat down on the couch, slow as a snail.She was too sad herself to hit him.“Adam, I don’t know what y-“

“Can you just answer my question please???”

“Yes…he was killed in the shootout.Wait here.”She got up to go to her room and pull out a newspaper from her drawer.She handed it to him.He grabbed it out of her hands and speedily read through it.It had Travis’s photo, and a detail of the crime scene.It told of him, the event, Iris, her parents, his coma, and those involved.They said the mafioso with Iris was named Anthony Sciloso.That wasn’t his father.Now he was even more confused.“I had to protect you,” she told him.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Lies, lies, and more lies.

“Anthony Sciloso was his alternate name.It was what he used for legal issues, and anything in ‘normal’ civilization.He was keeping us safe, honey.Benny Giordano was his true name that he used with his true family, including the mafia members who are responsible for us even living and breathing at this moment.We should be thankful, and grieve your father for who we know he was.”

“A child molester?”

Her jaw dropped: “How _dare_ you.”

“That’s what he was.He was in the room with Iris when he was shot.She was on her knees in front of him, Mom.A 12 year old girl.”Adam suddenly felt more defensive of Iris than he was his own father, if he could call him that.

Her eyes flowed with tears: “Wh-what??” She grabbed the paper back out of his hands and read it more thoroughly this time.“No. No, no, no.That’s—that’s not right.They made some kinda mistake.They must be confusing him for someone else.”

“How could you not know that? You have the fucking newspapers!”

“I-I, I don’t know.It was too painful for me to read the whole damn thing at the time.He was with her?? She was..” She gulped, “w-with _him_?”She thought he was with another prostitute…a grown one.He was not the most loyal of husbands, and didn’t share everything with her.That hurt her almost as much as the crime itself.

“That’s what she told me.”

“Who did?”

“Iris, the girl who was saved.I talked to her while I was away.”

Mildred was about to sputter.Bickle—she could throttle him herself.And Iris, that little…damaging her son and destroying what was still left of their tiny family like this.She was about to call her something, but stopped herself.

_She was 12, Mildred.12._

She began to have a panic attack, and gripped her abdomen while making sharp, wailing noises.She sunk into the couch and curled up, crying and shaking.

“I didn’t know…I swear to God I didn’t know…”

Adam tried to comfort his mother and held her close.“Shh, I understand, Mom, I understand.None of us knew.It was all on him—this is NOT your fault, ok? It’s not.I don’t like that you hid it from me…but it’s not your fault.”

She smoothed his shirt bleary-eyed.“I am so, so sorry, my baby.You shouldn’t have to go through all this…what you went through as a child…that was enough.”She broke down in hard tears again and blamed herself once more.

He hugged her.He did feel she was partly to blame for that, but he had mostly forgiven her a long time ago.“Please…it’s Christmas, Ma.Let’s go on.”

“Not a very good one,” she sniffed and wiped her face on her turtleneck.“And I worked my ass off on that struffoli too.”

Adam let out a small laugh.“My stomach could tell.” He folded his hands as he looked off into the fireplace, trying to push back his own despair.“You know, he died in the natural way for a mafioso. I don’t think he’d want it any other way, that rough old cunt.”

“He would be so proud of you,” Mildred said, but was instantly reminded of the pedophilia. “He’ll have to think about it in Hell.”She watched the fireplace’s flames as she said it.

“Never become like him, Adam, do you hear me? I don’t want you in any part of that lifestyle.They’ll have to drag you from my dead hands before they recruit you.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”He knew a protective mother was more dangerous than any mobster.

“Come here,” she pulled him back over to pinch his cheeks with her sharp fingernails and hold him to her again.“You always have your Mom.Don’t forget that.We only have each other in this world.”He cried softly into her shoulder as her graceful lock of hair fell onto his face.He burrowed.“Sometimes I don’t want to be here, Ma.What if I do fuck up, and I’ll end up right down there with Dad…he’ll be proud, alright.”

“Don’t you say that!” She rubbed his back and hummed a Latin hymn in her own shaking voice.He let it continue to warm him.She spoke:

“Never talk to Iris, not ever again.”

———————————————

Tom was shivering to his bones as he shook off the snow from his shoes on the front steps of his apartment.He rapped the locked door: “Bubbie, open up.It’s me.”The chain jingled on the other side.

He came in, relieved by the warm air.Bubbie gripped his face and warmed it more with her old, wrinkled hands.“Goodness, hon, did ya freeze yer balls off out there?”

“Pretty close.It’s that global cooling, Bubbie.”

“Ah! I was just watching the news and they were saying all sorts of bullshit like that.Do you need something? Ya hungry?”

“Actually,” he sighed, “I’m about to head out again.Are you ok by yourself?”

“Eh, ya know.I always am.I lit the last candle while you were gone,” she pointed to the menorah, on its last day.

“You ended Chanukah without me?”

“I didn’t know you gave such a fuck, Thomas, I’m sorry.I’ll save you a few latkes, no worries.”They laughed.She was very quick for her age, as Tom was reminded in every conversation while taking care of her.He was an agnostic Jew and she leaned that way, but she still followed some rituals.Tom found her tougher than most of the politicians he met.

He kissed her on the cheek and changed into a blazer before he left.

He walked into Palantine headquarters to find Betsy scurrying around, putting the last touches on the decorations of the Christmas party.A few people had shown up, and were already at work.Even tonight, former voters were calling in.There was a food, snack, and drink table, but no alcoholic beverages.They’d have to break that out at home, because this campaign was not looking for potential court cases, damages, and deaths or accidents involving their workers and/or suppliers.“We have enough lawyers up our asses right now,” an aide said.

Betsy noticed him: “Tom, thank God.Do me a solid and put the last balls in this box on the tree.”

“Barely five minutes in the door and I’m already put to work.”

The tree was white, with navy blue and silver fancy decorations.Its tip was almost to the ceiling, and a glittering star topped it to light that particular corner.“Trees aren’t supposed to be white and silver.What even is this?”

“It’s an artificial tree.They’re all the rage these days.” Betsy always knew what was “up to date” in terms of style.

“Is that why you’re wearing a neck scarf? Cause it’s all the rage? I think you’ve had it forever, Daphne Blake.”

Betsy fingered her neck tie.“I love these _and_ I look good in them while I investigate recent matters, so it’s all good.Even the polling opposition would agree.”

“Betsy-etsy-boo, here are you.You’re ready and you’re willing.If we can count on you, Betsy Boo, I know we’ll catch that villain!” Tom sang his version of the Scooby Doo theme as Betsy scowled and hung the last decoration.“How’s these mysterious _investigations_ been going?”

“What investigations?” She smiled.

“Bubbie said to tell you hi.”

“Aw, hi Bubbie! I hope she’s doing well.”

“She’s still kicking, so.”

“At least you still have your grandmother.Mine passed away when I was a teenager.I was actually thinking about her today when I was ice skating.And my mother—she would take my sister and I to the Nutcracker Ballet around this time of year when we were younger.I hated it then, but you learn to appreciate those kinds of things when you grow up.”

Tom knew about the ice skating.He and Betsy made an excursion to the state fair earlier that day, following Palantine who wanted to see “what it was like.”Tom and Betsy played around after Palantine wanted to be by himself.Tom was going to ice skate with Betsy but something must have put her off about that because she refused.Tom, for a long while now, was finally working up the courage to confess his feelings to Betsy.

He played a bubble popping game while she had to contain her giggles.

“Aim, Tom, AIM.”

“I’m trying Bets. Shush.”

He managed to win it, and she chose her prize: a stuffed elephant.“Elephants are my favorite animals,” she said.“Beautiful and emotional creatures.We have to stop hunting them for their tusks.Don’t buy anything ivory.”

“I know they’re your favorite.I saw that toy and decided this was the game to play.”

“And how did you know that?”

“I’ve been with you for years, Betsy.I know a lot about you.”

She smiled her pearly whites at him and he felt his heart flutter.He had to tell her or his chances would become dust in the lonely wind.As much as he valued their friendship, he was ready to finally move forward.No other woman made him feel the way she did.

He argued with himself whether he should just tell her then, or wait for it.He debated this while she was off skating.Once he heard of the races, being a former runner, he thought this could be the one thing he’s good at and would impress her by winning it.Why he thought these stupid thoughts, he didn’t know, but people motivated by love do strange things.

He even made someone practice with him after the anguish did a number on him.Unbeknownst to Christina, Tom was at his most desperate in that moment.And he still lost.

Even if he did end up telling the story of it to Betsy after she sunk into his arms and they wanted stories to tell their children, he _still_ wouldn’t tell Betsy about what the girl he raced said and did at the end.

It was Tom’s time to shine…but someone else was heading that way.

Travis opened the cab’s door on the side of the road and popped his back.The last persons he had to deliver to their faraway destination was a drunk pair of men he had to literally kick out.He took the Christmas drives the other cabbies didn’t, preferring a break.Travis earned more money.

He was now more in the countryside.In the black of night, snow falling, he took a deep breath of the fresh air.No one around.Just nature.

There was a barren field and a forest.A few deer grazed ahead.There were a few sounds, but not much beyond the rustling of trees.Travis kneeled down and felt the grass, dirt, and snow with his hands.It soothed him.

He saw a holly tree, fresh holly aplenty.He walked over to it and picked a sprig of the red and green holly.Back in his cab, he used directions from a map he had studied the other day to find the new Palantine headquarters.He had an idea.

Driving slow around the building, he saw that it was still open.Perfect.He saw Betsy in one window.Perfect.There were security guards.They actually said he could go in for a minute when he said he had information for Betsy.

Travis walked in hoping no one would notice he wasn’t a part of them.Some stared, one woman asking who he was: “I’m a special guest.”

“Probably a Sandra-sent spy,” another joked.

He walked straight to Betsy.She had her back turned, holding a can of 7Up while talking to someone.He tapped her.

When she whipped around and saw him, she took a step back.“Travis! Hey.”She glanced to him and then the door.“Why, why are you here?”How did he find them?

“I was driving around and I saw you in the window.Why not come in and visit for a bit.”

“But of course!Well, make yourself comfortable.There’s some snacks.Do you like cheese and crackers?”

“I love cheese and crackers.”

“Great!Uh, we’re not expecting non-work guests, but I’m sure we can make an exception here.Tell me if you need something.”

“Will do,” he slowly smiled as he drank a cup of coffee…at night.He frowned when he saw Tom in the same vicinity.Tom gave him, in turn, a similar reaction.

Travis wandered around, every once in a while striking up a short conversation.They were kind of boring, these people, but it was someone to talk to.At least he wasn’t cooped up in his apartment as usual.Tom finally came over to greet him.“It’s good to see you, Travis.All in one piece,” he fake-laughed as he regarded Travis’s neck wound.Travis smiled and said “Hm,” but that was it.

“It’s pretty weird you’re here, I seem to not remember sending _you_ an invitation.”

“It was on a whim.”

“Well, Mele Kalikimaka, besides.”

“Aren’t you Jewish?” Travis said it like being Jewish was unnatural.

“Yes…but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish someone a merry Christmas.”

“I respect Jewish traditions.They’ve lasted for thousands of years and still haven’t changed…more than I can say for Christmas pricks nowadays.They’ve sold their souls.Kind of like a holiday hooker,” he “hmm’d” again.

Tom laughed and pointed: “I know what you mean, Travis.I know..” he sighed, “…what..you mean.” He downed the rest of his candy cane and whipped cream hot cocoa.

Travis searched, but there was no brandy in sight.What sort of Christmas was this? He spent his every year drinking to null his pain.There were no dogs to distract him either, as was the case with house parties.He would feed them scraps under the table.

Luckily, Betsy came back to him.“What a lifeless party this is.”

“Only when you’re not around.”

She blushed.“So, is there any new women in your life?”

Travis thought: “No, I’m content with being a bachelor.”

“Oh, and who’s Sandra? I heard some bird over there mention that name referring to me.”

“Sandra? She is, was, a coworker.”

“Speaking of which, I sort of understand the bachelor thing.These friends of Sandra’s have been harassing me for weeks now.You know, I’m a strong believer in men manning up, but Lord, I’m starting to think women need to get a grip too!They let themselves get all dolled up for men, and then go and treat their fellow women like trash.We should be in this together, right?Not selling our bodies and becoming nothing but something to sit on a shelf.Stop acting like boys and stop acting like girls.Take responsibility for once in your life.”

Travis smiled.It was the sexiest thing he had heard in a while.

“Well, in case you change your mind, I have some single friends,” Betsy said.

“No thanks. _I’m_ enough for me to handle.”

She laughed, then sounded sad.“Are you still lonely all the time?”

“Not _all_ the time…”

“You should get a dog—they can help with PTSD, you know.”

“I’d get a dog if it was trained to guard, and kill when needed.”

“Betsy,” he elbowed her, “look.”

She looked up, and saw they were under the mistletoe.“I can’t kiss you!” Her voice lowered, “I don’t want to look tipsy and open for business, if you know what I mean.”They smiled in a long, edgy silence before Travis said, “I have something for you.”

“Ooh.”

He pulled out the holly and pinned it to her beret.“Now you look like a fantasy elf.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”She saw it in her blush mirror, and smiled warmly.“That’s beautiful!How sweet of you.”

He touched it again with his hand, with his fingers now brushing her hair back.She took a hold of his hand, and rubbed it.They were staring into each other’s eyes for a good minute when Tom was “forced” to interrupt.“Betsy, they want you to break out your violin again.”

She sighed.“Again? That thing’s gonna be broken before Santa gives me a new one.”

Tom gave Travis his most threatening glare, which wasn’t that threatening. 

The affection only grew by the end of the night.Betsy played a lovely tune on her violin (Travis had no idea she even possessed that talent) that sounded like “Silent Night.”She ended it with her own voice: “Sleep in heavenly peace, my friends.”Tom was beaming at her, and she saw Travis.His smile was inching wider, and he showed a glimpse of not only pride, but attraction.

She twinkled back, and drifted her eyes down.It was only them for that moment, until the din returned and Betsy high-fived Tom, who hugged her.Travis lingered until he saw a _really_ familiar tall and blonde secret service agent enter the building.Shit.

He had to rush out unseen and unheard, but still took one last look at Betsy-Etsy-Boo.

Not long after he was in his bed.He was lying on his back, hands folded as if in prayer and his eyes closed.Images of the Holland group, his plans, and the rats and maggots of that godforsaken neighborhood came onto him.He saw the dead baby, Ernest writhing in his own blood, and himself writhing in his own blood in a brothel.He aimed, and the shot hit his temple.He threw his arm to the side, and knocked over something.He put it back into place without seeing what it was.He closed his eyes again.

“Travis, you’re dirty.”

His mother’s voice made him open his eyelids in a shock.He looked around: she wasn’t there.But he _swore_ he heard her right next to him.

It was just an empty apartment.And a dark one, at that.He turned on his lamp.There was no decorations here.There was no music or warm fires.It was Travis and the spirits of his mind…and even they had quieted down.Travis was alone.

Not even the Schumann Resonance spoke up.

He was so “accustomed” to coffee by now that it had little affect on him in any way.He couldn’t sleep regardless.Another long night ahead.

He pulled out his journal and reread his entries of the year.Sometimes he cringed at it, and sometimes he felt proud of himself.He reached the end, where he made an abrupt stop.He would get a new one, but he somehow doubted his dedication this time around.He reached for another book.

Travis did have one Christmas tradition: he would read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.It was his favorite Dickens book, even more than Oliver Twist.The opening page of his journal actually had a quote from Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

It was the best summary for how he felt living here in this time period, though he tended to focus primarily on the worst—but so did newscasters, he thought.It’s what people do.

Ebenezer Scrooge was one of his favorite fictional characters, who he thought a misunderstood but right on man.He called out the filth of his locality and saw their burden on the economy and societal future, preservation, and safety.Travis enjoyed reading Scrooge’s spiritual journey—and that’s what it was, a spiritual journey.In fact, journals were first used to record spiritual journeys.Scrooge was like a more tame, modern version of Dante, from the Inferno book he was also reading and was riveted by.Paradise Lost and The Pilgrim’s Progress were next on his new reading list.

Celebrating Christmas was something childish to him even when he himself was a child.

One day, he and his parents were driving back from the rare trip downtown.They were driving down the long road surrounded by fields as vast as the sea on either side.The Midwestern fields had corn, wheat, vegetables, and soy growing in it.

On that day, though, there was a thick cloud they drove through.They thought it was dust at first.Then they heard the buzzing, and hard things hitting the car repeatedly.

“Are we in a tornado?” A ten year old Travis asked, huddling in the middle of the back seats.Tornadoes both scared and excited him at that age.

The cloud became a ghastly red, and his father answered, “Locusts.”

They had many locust swarms that year, destroying the local crops.His mother said they had to ration and not waste any bread during that time.They’re just grasshoppers, they told him, but grasshoppers didn’t make red clouds bigger than barns.It frightened Travis, who felt reminded of something biblical he would hear in church said in scary tones.He thought they might carry them away…yet the thought entertained him.

His father would tell tales of the Rocky Mountain Locust, a particularly devastating and now extinct species, once native to these parts.Travis figured that was the closest one could get to aliens.

At home, Travis went out onto the back porch.He crossed his arm on the wooden beam and laid his head on it.He was thinking about the little bulb lights hanging on buildings.He was thinking about the Christmas trees in some people’s windows.Why was it that the secular folk had celebrations, but they didn’t? Morning church service was not quite as interesting.

His mother stepped out.“What are you looking at? I noticed you kept starin’ at the lights back there.”

“Mother, how come we don’t have anything up for Christmas?”

“Because we’re only called to think of the Holy Son during this season, not adorn ourselves.He was probably born in spring, you know.”

“But it would make me happy to have something up.”

“Don’t be vain, son.Vanity is the worst of the sins.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.I don’t always think before I talk.”He just wanted a stocking.

“We are all followers of Christ, Travis, and subjects of His Kingdom.Do some building of your character and maybe you can help others with theirs.”

“And…we did celebrate like the _others_ , one time.”

Travis turned to her, his fingers drumming.

“When you were a baby, I watched your silly Father put up this big gosh darn Christmas tree in our livin’ room.It was full and smelled up my livin’ room of pine.It had beautiful decorations and tinkling lights.You see, my own mother had died not too long ago, and Father wanted to lift my mood.I watched him spruce it up as I cradled you in my arms.You wouldn’t go to sleep when I rocked you; only when I held you still in my arms.I remember I said something to him, and you opened your little eyelids and saw the lights.You were enthralled by the lights….so I’m not surprised you still love em! Keep looking at that light, Travis.Maybe you’ll find something in it.”

Travis found that interesting.She never told him anything about life or what he was like before the age of 5.It seemed like a faraway time in a faraway place.

She pointed to his shoes: “Now clean your feet and hands before coming into my house like that, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He followed her back in, lulled by the imaginary and invisible out in the space behind him.

Travis on the early dark hours of Christmas 1976 felt a sudden chill, like the temperature drastically dropped.He warmed his arms.

A little whistling sound could be heard.The door to his bathroom closed by itself.

Travis stared in total silence, waiting.He slowly stretched his arm out to turn off the lamp.

Whoever broke in was coming back.He felt under his mattress until he gripped the automatic.He turned the light back on, but it immediately went out with the last life of the lightbulb.Travis shivered.He didn’t believe in ghosts, but…

The vent kicked on, making sounds that were unpleasant.Travis smacked his ear when he heard the buzzing noise of a locust in it.Bugs were inside of him, crawling around without a care in the world.If only he could drown them out.

Travis stayed still for 10 minutes straight, with nothing happening.He put his legs under the thin blanket he had, and had to stop near the end of his bed because someone had sat on it.

That’s how it appeared, anyway.

He saw the deepening crease at the end of his mattress and heard the springs move.

The presence—he knew that presence.Emotion surfaced. 

“Mother?”

He felt the fingers going through his hair.“Please.” He rubbed his aching forehead.“Please leave.” 

“You’re dirty, Travis.”

“ _Leave_ ,” his whisper changed into a strained, quiet plea.He felt dizzy, and had no bodily choice but to go to sleep. 

His dream consisted of Linh the Vietnamese prostitute of his past stepping to him.She was in ghost form, and looked worse for wear.She was warning him of what he’s done, and what was to come.She said it was all going to come back to him.Everything.It was time.

It came to him when he awoke that she may, _may_ just be his Jacob Marley.

Travis bought himself a Christmas gift the next day: instructions on how to exorcise and anoint one’s house.


	23. Resolutions

_Bread.Tuna.Power cord.Battery.Lampshade.Cucumber.Paper bag.The rain._

The list was repeated in Travis’s head as he unloaded his groceries into the back of his car.

_The rain._

The day was a cloudy, cold one, and Travis’s typical poor mood matched the weather.It was late January, 1977.He pulled out a sharpie from his wallet and wrote down on the shopping bag. _Paper bag._

_“Date - 1977.New year, doesn’t feel like it.I almost wrote 1976.No new journal yet.Must try to record things even so.”_

Travis watched an old woman walk out of the store.Upon stepping on the grass, she slid on melted ice and face-planted into the ground.Her body was sprawled, her face was pushed into the flat surface, and groceries rolled out of the bag.From her stillness, Travis legitimately thought she had died on impact.Worst of all, the young man with a name tag who helped her was standing there like a pin needle, unsure what to do.He stood there doing nothing.

Travis threw the bag to run over and gently pick her up.She was alive, but she was a little out of it.He asked her if she had any pains in her head or body, but she said she was fine in a very wobbly, old tone.She thanked him and smiled.He gathered her groceries for her and walked her to her car.He offered to drive her to wherever she lived, but she insisted it wasn’t far and he could go.When he came back, the boy was still standing, dumbfounded.

Travis raised his arms in disbelief at the boy. The boy walked off, ashamed.Travis’s faith in humanity dwindled by the day.Yet _he_ was supposed to be the odd one out.

In the car, Travis had another one of his ideas.There were two people he still had faith in, and he was hopeful to see them again.

At her own apartment, Christina was alone herself.She was holding up Hatch the guinea pig, trying to give him his specialized medicine from the vet through a syringe.He wasn’t eating anymore, and he was unusually warm.The vet guessed an infection, so gave her the mix to feed him.What panicked Christina was that most of the savings she had for vet bills was spent just on the exotic vet.If Hatch needed surgery to save his life, she couldn’t afford it.

“Come on, baby, get better for me.”Hatch looked at her with watery black eyes.It was probably Travis, she thought. _It started when that fucker held him and talked about feeding him to the snake.He must have scared the bejesus of out him into sickness._ Guinea pigs were sensitive creatures.

And Christina was sensitive to her animals.

The phone rang.It was an older style phone, that matched the layout of her apartment.It was built in the 1940s, and showed traces of it along with some upgrades.It was not totally run down, but not brand spankin’ new either.Christina answered the phone to hear her mother on the other end.

“Helllooo.Someone finally picked up!”

“Hey, Mom! Yeah, I’ve been busy at the taxi depot, so I’m not home.As a result we keep playing phone tag.”Though she sighed in relief.Her mother was her best friend other than Adam. 

They were tight; she shared everything with her.But they talked less and less what with Christina’s job and her mother’s treatment.

“Are you doing alright?” She could not help the deeper concern for her mother in her voice.

“Oh, I’m hangin in there.I feel run down and my legs are killin’ me as always.How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“That’s good.It worries me, sometimes, you being alone in a big city.I want to be sure you’re safe and healthy.”

“Of course.And I want to be sure _you’re_ safe and healthy.”

“Christina, I done told ya not to worry about me.You got enough to worry about over there.I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to worry about you, Mom, that’s that.It seems like whenever I call, you have something bad going on or some other ailment hammering down on you.”

“That’s my life, Sugar.Be lucky you ain’t living it.Have you met any new people? Or are you still all by yourself lonesome?”

“I have a few friends.They’re…tolerable.Actually, I have been seriously thinking about moving back down there.I’m not sure if I belong in this place.”

“That’s a big decision, so definitely think on it more first.You know you have a… _bad_ reputation at home.I don’t want to see you hurt again.But if you come and visit your old mama, you can come real soon and I’ll make you your favorite birthday dish when you were younger.Ribs from the smoker and black-eyed peas.And them boiled peanuts.”

“Mmmm.Yeah I’ll have to visit.”She actually forgot her birthday was in a few days. 

She asked about her mother’s husband: “Oh you know, he still grates on me even as long as we’ve been married.By the way, you should call your dad, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

“Mm—No, I don’t believe he would.”Christina was not too happy with her father right now.He was still in the belief that he was young and carefree, starting up businesses left and right, moving to various places, buying things he didn’t need, having a young girlfriend, and hardly ever checking up on her.He probably was disappointed with her—she always had that feeling even if everyone told her it wasn’t true.Why would he accept her anyway? He left her when she was young.He was so disappointed with what happened in her college years, he never again answered her calls.Could she really blame him, though?

“That’s nonsense, I know in my heart he misses you.You’re his only daughter.Oh, I was talking to Isaac the other day.He was ranting about the governor when his wife came in and he had to hang up.So funny.I tried to call Ed too but he don’t ever pick up unless it’s an emergency.He’s so quiet, that one.At least I know you all have jobs and lives of your own.”

“I know, I miss them.Well, Mom, I have to cook my dinner.I’ll try to call you again when we have more time to chat.”

“Definitely do that.I can tell we need to talk.And cook the list of suppers that I lent you.It’s not too hard.”

Christina was used to eating the same dishes from that one list.She tried to experiment outside of it, but it was never as tasty as the home recipes.She also had dietary restrictions, which made it harder.

“Let me guess—you’re gonna stay up late tonight?”

“That’s my natural state of being, yes.”

“I know.Since you were tiny and kept me up in my belly kicking and then all night screaming and then even years later I still couldn’t get you to go to bed unless I threatened you with lashes.Done drove me nuts, child.”

“Heh, yep…sorry about that, Mama.Please take care of yourself, before I have to throttle your cancer with my own bare hands.”

“I will, now quit it.I’m old.I’ve lived my life.I ain’t afraid of goin to heaven.You’re still young, so you need to eat, sleep, and take your arthritis medication.If I do die, which could be likely with my doctor’s news yesterday, you need to hold your head up and keep doing your duties while I’m gone.”

Christina froze: “News…what news?”

Her mother sighed.“I wasn’t going to tell you so fast, but it’s not gone.It-it may have spread, if the tests come back sayin it…”

Christina sniffed, shook her head, and looked up to the dusty ceiling.She closed her eyes tight, fighting any sign of emotion.“IF.” 

“If. Like I said, don’t worry.I love you and I forgive you for what you did; none if it is true—remember. I’m still your mama and you're still my youngest—even if you’re soon to be 26 years old.That’s what should be on your mind.Pray.”

“Alright.I promise I will.I hope you get better, as always.”

“Thank you dear.Bye bye now.”

“Night,” she hung up with an unblinking gaze.Hatch gave a hoarse squeak.

“I’m coming, buddy.”

The next morning, Christina waited for two men outside Adam’s complex.She was smoking a joint in content and watching a few people walk by. 

“Good morning,” Travis said to her.

“What is it we’re doing today again?”

“I thought we’d explore some of downtown while getting some fresh air.I don’t know, talk.”

“Sounds like a real blast.Hmph.I’m actually early for once.I was up at the crack of dawn with a sick guinea pig.Then I watched the morning kids shows.”She seemed to almost blow smoke out of her nose.

She suddenly started singing in a flat, off-tone: “Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la, tra-la-la, la-la-la-laaa.Come on Trav, sing with me.One banana, two banana, three banana four, all bananas make a split and so do many more.Over hill and highway the banana buggies go, come along to bring you The Banana Splits show.”

She elbowed him and he looked as serious as ever.

She continued with the munchies: “Damn, a banana split sounds pretty good right now.”

Adam finally stepped out of the central opening, holding a scarf to his nose.“Sorry that took forever.Let’s-a-go.”He knew exactly who he was going out with, but he was too afraid to say no to Travis.In addition, something about the idea of Christina and Travis alone kind of bothered him.He’d have to suck it up the best he could.The best one _could_ suck up family matters.

“I drive all day, all night, so someone else is driving us to Times Square today,” Travis informed.

The excited Adam was about to say something but Travis stopped him: “Someone who hasn’t almost broke my car.I need to have my break in peace.”Adam frowned.

Travis threw and caught the jingling keys with his hand.He looked at it, smiled, and said, “Christina.” He threw the keys to her while she slowly looked up and it hit her in the forehead.

“Ouch.”Quite the stoned ouch.

“You drive.Let’s see how you do after a joint.”She opened the door and he snapped at her.“Get rid of that shit first.No need to hotbox my new car.”Christina was confused.He said one thing and then another.What did he even want her to do?

Travis hurried to the passenger side while Adam stuffed himself in the back.Christina mumbled in frustration, muttering what sounded like “motherfucker” as she fumbled into the driver’s seat.This car didn’t have her pillow that she sat on in her own car to actually see everything on the road. 

She started the car.So far, so good.Travis was glad it wasn’t Adam driving.

Within a mere five minutes, he regretted it.Christina was an _awful_ driver.

She was slow.So slow, that honks were at twice the frequency than usual in the city.She almost ran over a line of schoolchildren, a man going to work, and a raccoon.When she backed up, she hit the curb at least twice.When she would stop, she would slam on the breaks.Then at go she’d lunge onto the pedal.Adam was getting carsick. 

“Easy, easy…EASY!” Travis had to heighten his voice just to goad her.He put his hand on the wheel when she turned, and it set her off: “Dude, lay off.I know how to fucking drive.I’ve been doing it for years.”

Travis huffed.“Mkay then.I’m just tellin you to take it easy, is all.”

Adam tried to stifle her anger with some fun talk.“Hey! Let’s play a question game.I’ll ask your favorite things, any random thing, and you quickly tell me.”

“You in high school or preschool?” Travis asked.

Adam rolled his eyes.“Play along.Ok, first—your favorite David Bowie song?”

“I don’t know many Bowie songs, but I do like that one I heard a week ago.Heroes.”

“Good choice! Christina?”

“Shhh, I need to concentrate….Space Odyssey.”

“Oh so like, his most well-known song? Lame.”

“It’s a great song!”

“Next question—who is your personal idol or favorite famous person?”

“Bobby Fischer and President Calvin Coolidge,” said Christina.

“Myself,” Travis answered, and Adam cocked his head.“Um, I see.”

“Here’s a classic one—favorite color?”

“Green.”Travis and Christina said it at the same time and glanced at the other for a brief moment.Adam thought it was funny.

Parking along other cars in Times Square, Christina made an abrupt halt.Travis was relieved.If she sped through an empty road, then he would know for sure this is how he was going to go out; and after all he’d been through.Live by the car, die by the car.

“We can always go to Times Square.I’ve seen it more times than I can count.Why are we here?” Adam spoke up.“It’s just a starting point.And it’s always boss to see, even for the fifty-four-thousandth time,” Travis responded after a pause.

They watched the billboards and advertisements until someone knocked on Christina’s window.She rolled it down, and a man in a vest ordered she move quite angrily.She had to make a sharp turn, causing Travis to cringe again.She yelled at someone who cut her off, which took Adam aback because he hardly heard her yell.“What is wrong with people these days.Politeness is a lost art,” she then said, softer.

“We should drop off around the corner there.We’ll be allowed to park and we can walk around.” Travis said.“Go a lil faster, please.”

“I can’t, Bickle—there’s traffic.”

“Yes you can.”

Christina suddenly stopped.“Why don’t you drive? Really, because it seems like that’s what would make you feel all good and comfy.Good God.”

Travis raised his hand.“No.I’m just tryin to help.You’re not gonna learn to get better if I do it.I promise I’m just tryin to help.Promise.”

She glared at him.Travis sighed with a bit of an anxious laugh.“I’m sorry! C’mon, we’re in the middle of the street.”

Her face was red.It was clear she didn’t like being told about what she _could not_ do.She shook her head, rolling her tongue around her mouth: “Well I can’t now.You’re making me nervous in the service.”

“I make you nervous?”

“YES.Stop watching my every move, at least.”

Travis stared at her for a minute, his whole face down.“Let me drive.”

“ _Thank_ you!” Christina growled, and slammed the door to switch seats.She buckled herself in with a frustrated breath and rested her hand on her fist.

Adam watched out the window in the midst of the awkwardness as Travis found a spot in a parking garage.Of course, _he_ drove, sought out a spot, and parked perfectly.

For someone who “wanted to help,” Travis made it worse when he went on about Christina’s driving as they were parked: “See, I don’t understand how you can checkup on cars, then somehow you drive like a beginner.I’m surprised you passed your license test.”

“I don’t understand how you’re oh-so-careful and then let…somebody high take the wheel,” Christina quipped back.“Ach, I think I hear bells ringing.”

“Fair enough.Though you’re pretty much the same as normal under the influence.”

“I’m used to it, and it’s only pot.”

“Ya know, I really fuckin hate the 60s for bringing this…this cultural revolution on us.Nothing but sex, ‘free love,’ rebelling, and drugs.People’s health, and our family structures…our communities, our morals, all of it shot down for drug and sex obsessions.It’s sad, man. _Sad_.”

“I’m kinda wanting ice cream,” Adam said a few minutes later.He clapped his hands.“Okay! Enough of that! Let’s get some exercise in this, whooo, this winter."

They walked the streets with long strides, looking around as if they were new here.Broadway, the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center, Central Park and its zoo, and the various ages of the cluttered buildings.It was so familiar to them all that it wouldn’t typically garner any reaction, but it was certainly nice sites to see on a long walk.There were clothes lines they walked under.

Adam, though, still missed Brooklyn and the cozy, beautiful Ossining of his Aunt Grace.

Nevertheless, he watched the still, blue harbor waters around the Statue of Liberty from an iron fence.It made him proud to look at it, like he connected with his immigrant ancestors.He looked down at the water.It had to be freezing.He felt Travis next to him and he jumped.

“Such pretty water,” Travis observed, with that empty look in his haunted eyes.

“Yeah, it is.”Adam was scared Travis might try to push him in.

Christina was bundled in a thick jacket and was slow to walk.Adam warmed his hands and Christina pushed up her eye frames and sniffled as frost bit their cheeks.

It was rather quiet, but, Travis, who always looked like he never could find out how to have fun in his whole life, maybe not knowing completely what fun is, actually grinned at his two allies: “I gotta say, this is fun guys.Are you having fun? I am.”

Adam tried to nod and smile with chattering teeth.

“A harrowing example of urban plight with a side of freezing temperatures.I hope we return before my shift,” Christina droned.

“Ah well, forget about you,” Travis muttered and waved his hand.“Killjoy.So.”

After almost a minute, Adam asked, “So, what?”

Travis stopped, staring, and pointed to a restaurant nearby without looking at it.“So, we should warm up with some food.”

They ate lunch at a New York-style pizzeria, and it had heavenly aromas.Adam unzipped his jacket and sat down.“Now you’re speaking my language.”

“It is good,” Travis reiterated in his quiet, unsuspecting manner.

“Have you tried Chicago style?” Asked Adam.“I haven’t.”

“Too much bread.” Travis immediately criticized it—he was good at criticism.

Travis drank from a bottle of beer before revealing a part of his plan: “I’m going to be honest, I wanted to talk to you both about an um, an idea…I-I have.I’m glad that you’re open to being my friends, that’s always nice, but…I’m thinking of starting, my own club, of sorts.I wondered if either or both of you would be up to joining.”

He told them it would be an organization for lonely people, and he wanted to see if he could handle it and bring a sense of community to loners.Adam said he’d think about it, and Christina hummed “Eleanor Rigby” because Travis said “lonely people.”

“Never mind, it’s a dumb idea.I don’t even have any planning for it yet.”

Adam gave advice: “You could.You have to reach out to others though, you can’t lock yourself up.”

“Therein lies my problem.”

“Well the answer to it is yours.”Christina said it in a way that was kind of snooty and their glaring contest continued.

Travis went hush about it again.He tried to test the waters first.It was going to be quite the process, but he was sure they would come around eventually.They—no, the whole city—no, the whole _country_ —would have no clue what hit them.But he could not do it alone.He needed a most trusted partner, and he thought he may have found him or her in one of these two.

Christina deeply sighed.“Irresponsibility.Oh how I hate thee.You could always learn how to interact with people with books.You just read words vomited onto a page with the sweet incense of the years gone by until your eyes fall out with the force of a million eyeballs with lemon juice squeezed onto them.Don’t forget to insert whatever bias you have into them, project every idea spat forth, and memorize whatever the hell you want and call it intellect.Then I’d say you’re pretty prepared to interact with others.If everyone actually compared viewpoints from books, maybe there wouldn’t be so many vapid screeching marmots around stuck in their own personal traffic on a two-way street.Maybe men can learn skills and actually be _men_.But that would require effort and the ability to think beyond a conditioning someone had since birth to go beyond the gooey walls of their cranium,” she suddenly stabbed the pizza with a knife, “and discover that there is more to be found in the entirety of the human experience than this tiny little encased box they’ve created and believe is existence and what shit comes forth from their hot, nose-breathing mouths.”She ate a piece of pepperoni.“That’s…what-what I think…anyway.Read a book….maybe.”

“Everyone has an opinion, Christina,” objected Adam, “And that’s a good thing.”

“Everyone has an echo too.When there’s too many it only makes it even easier to be trapped in an echo chamber.”

Adam looked confused: “Do you even know what you’re talking about most of the time?”

She tapped her chin.“Nope.Hmm.Damn, I don’t even know _what_ it is I’m babbling about…Good Lord…maybe it’s just my _opinion_.” She bobbed her head.

Christina usually either bored people to death or irritated them somehow with her monologues and mechanical, dull tidbits of both information and opinions.However, Adam noticed Travis seemed to be hanging on her every word with interest.They must have forged a friendship when they were alone together like he and Travis did on the road.

Adam took big bites into the pizza and rolled back his eyes. “Mmmmmm.MMMM.”

“Good, right?” Travis smiled at him.He had a heavy pressure in his chest, like when depression was about to hit him hard.He tried to resist the feeling for the moment. _You’re not worthless,_ he reminded himself, _but you have to push harder._

“Ya ever think about, like, deep questions?” He asked.

“Oh I think about going in deep alright.All the time,” Adam answered mischievously.

“I’m serious.”

“I guess?”

“What do you think I just went all on about?” Christina commented.

“Well, I wanted to ask a few, perhaps.”

Adam was now serious: “Shoot.”

Travis tried to find the words that were already on his troubled mind for a good while.They were entry-level questions, but they sounded dumber coming out of his mouth.“Like…let’s say I wanted to start my own brand, and I needed advice on how to be the best leader of that brand, literally and philosophically.What would I use to judge my leadership, and who I would I choose for a follower, sorry, followers?”

“I dunno,” Adam simply replied with a sip of his soda.

“Tech-ni-cally, you guys are my first two.You two are practically like my long lost brother and sister.”

“Ick, I reject that notion,” Christina sniffed.

“I could see that,” Adam added.

“So, anybody?”

“I can’t really say dude, but just be honest with people, I guess.Encourage them or whatever.That’s a good leader.”

Christina then spoke up: “Don’t do something to be liked.Every single person who has lived has done one thing or another that is considered disagreeable.If you’re trying to be approvable instead, then you are a juvenile practician of tedious, foreseen brainwashing that is totally indigestible.Being predicable is such a bore.You’d be better with contrarianism.”

“English?” Travis asked.

“Don’t be a kiss-ass.”

“No, you’d rather someone kiss _your_ ass, like yesterday,” Adam accused her.

“I deserved it.I won not one, but four solitaire games in a row,” she bragged.

“That’s because you cheated!” Adam interjected.

“I did _not_.Lies.”

“You’re the liar!”

“Even if I did, it’s not like I should be imprisoned for it.”

“You get away with everything, so probably not.The Feds should come after you though.Cheating on cards is one step away from breaking the law.”

“Statist,” Christina spat like an insult.

Travis’s pick would have to wait.

———————————————

The man tried to scream.He tried to bite the hand on his mouth.Anything.He tried.

“Shhh, shh.” Travis attempted to calm the man squirming in his grasp.

“S-stop…” he managed to say once free of the hand.

It went right back over his mouth and the knife dug deeper into his groin.

“One more word, I said.Hmm? One more word,” Travis softly threatened, as close to the man’s ear as a lover.Or perhaps a dog about to bite a neck.

It was a long day for Travis.This was the finale, and it was rather climatic. 

As soon as he got home from the day with Adam and Christina, he prepared for his walkabout the following day, and did not sleep.He drove to the infamous brothel of his prostitute-saving, pedophile-slaying past and stayed there and watched it until dawn.By daylight he entered.

Or…he tried to.

Several of the steps still had police tape or fragments of police tape on their sides.When he instinctively found the opening that Iris first led him through, the doors seemed almost glued shut.He pulled on it harder, his shoes skidding against the ground. 

Still tugging, he heard a voice come closer, calling to him: “Sir!”

He stopped.“Sir, you can’t go in there.Do me a favor and step away.”

The man had a high voice to match his short, skinny body.He had big ears, and was wearing a suit with an ID around his neck.

“Oh, hello,” Travis tried to think on the spot of what his planned excuse was, but he had a bad memory paired with a poor ability to lie.“You should uh, you should make these doors safer, ya know, someone might try to break in.”

“We did try.Evidently not well enough.This used to be a brothel, actually.Under the guise of a hotel.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know?”

“I’m the guy who shot it up that summer.”

“Oh. _Ohhhhh_.”

“Oh.” Travis was annoyed.This person was only wasting his time.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” the man corrected, “‘Shot it up’ sounds so _maniacal_.You actually helped start our investigation, so there’s that.”

“What are you, FBI or somethin?”

“Just an off-branch of the NYPD.You are—Travis Bickle, I assume.”

“Yep.Sooo I can go in then, since I helped the investigation and everything.”

“Eh no, no sir, I’m afraid you’re not allowed.Go on with your business, now.”

“Look man, I’m not gonna do anything to mess your stuff up.I just want to revisit this place…it’s…personal to me, obviously.”

“Sir, you can’t, I’m sorry.If you don’t step away soon, I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Travis the veteran started walking toward the smaller man, who backed up a little and tried to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there.“Well, I’ll have to call backup to kindly escort you away.”

While it was perfectly reasonable for detectives to keep their cases tight and closed in, at this point, Travis knew something, _something_ was being hidden inside.The odd, “nervous” defensiveness gave it away.

There was a stare down for several minutes until the man gestured to his watch: “Thirty minutes.You have thirty minutes.Try not to touch everything.”

“If this is not the right time I’ll just go home, no problem.I-I won’t bother you….”

“Thirty minutes, take it or leave it.”

Travis paused, and then grinned.“Thank you.”The man ran up the steps to unlock and unhinge the doors (almost knocking himself over in the process) and let Travis in.He explained to another agent who Travis was and why he let him inside.He then eyed Travis as he waited in the front room, arms crossed. 

There were a few other agents in there, as well as a pregnant teenager being interviewed on a couch.Travis looked over the seedy cracked walls again, remembering his two significant trips here.One under disguise, and the next to kill. 

A lot of objects were removed, and the furniture was covered in plastic.This den of drugs and sin was now a bare-boned wasteland, haunted by its echoes of sex, slime, and suffering.Although Travis still found it so familiar, and could’ve sworn he still smelled reefer smoke.

The tobacco an agent was puffing on did not help.There were too many cigarettes.Too many addictions.Too many bad decisions. Simply the appeal of cigarettes angered Travis, and it angered him that he couldn’t stop it.He could not correct humanity.He, who used to smoke himself.Always the king of hypocrites.

But if they only _knew_ …

His now-worn boots thumped on the plaster-like floor as he gravely entered the next room.Another agent nodded to him, asking how he was doing since the “incident.”

“I still think about it sometimes, I guess.It’s…not always easy, b-but I get by.”He wasn’t keen to talking right now.He never was, but this was a particular case.

“You’re lucky you weren’t arrested.But, you opened up to us a whole hidden ring of prostitution, I think you should know.”

“Really?”

“Really.It’s bad.We knew there were cases of human trafficking in the city, but not to this degree…and right under our noses! Underage trafficking included.We gotta crack down on these crime rings.The mob is bad enough.”

“How long are you going to keep this place locked up? I would just destroy it.”

“Uhhh, well, no. It’s still a hotspot for a helluva lot of proof, and for all we know someone might buy it and make it into an actual hotel, after we’re done.”

Travis did not like that idea at all.This was a cursed place.It had to be rid of.

“May I go upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”He looked back to the first man, who showed his watch again.Travis walked up the steep steps, which had several kinks and turns.Once he reached the hallway, it was so narrow and dark claustrophobia set in with the final step.The writings were still preserved.The insults, cuss words, porn sketches, symbols, nonsense letters, and the writing he remembered seeing when he went up with Iris and shot the man in her room: “Jesus loves you” with a heart.Travis felt a rage he couldn’t fully contain.He scratched his dirty, overgrown fingernails down the wall, scraping a crack and clawing the writing like he was eviscerating it.

Other symbols caught his attention: a peace sign and a spiral.Those, along with the heart, were the same symbols of the club/cult he was now a prominent member of.“Fuck,” he breathed.

He walked until it was too dark to even see, and the end was covered in pure shadow.He stopped in his tracks. 

Travis was not a cowardly man, not typically.Just in these past few years he had fought in a war, challenged mafiosos, and defended Melio against a robber.He felt like he was built to protect, built to fight.He has been hardened.

But right now, he couldn’t remember ever being this scared.Flight kicked in over fight, yet he was frozen.His heart seemed to seep down to his gut.His breathing slowed.His eyes bulged.He backed up, and then stopped again. 

Trembling, he tried to think of what to do.“Help,” he tried to say, but his voice was so low and hoarse it sounded like nothing.He grabbed the walls, as if pushing them would move them.Instead, he heard the crack.His breathing was now loud and there was a whimper.The darkness stared back at him like it would pull him in soon.It appeared to grow across the hall and envelop him even further.There was a heavy quiet—Travis only heard himself acting like a wuss.“Come on,” he heard Iris say, but her voice had a metallic sense to it like every voice he heard in his head.Those voices were so loud it felt real, yet they were trapped in his mind and no one else could hear them.The whispering started; maybe a hand was about to grab him from the dark.He closed his eyes and saw the bright colors of the room.The old man who told him his limited time with Iris, which he was counting.Wait…

…the man outside was timing him too…

“You alright up there?” That man’s voice called.

Quiet.Peace.He found the bulb and turned it on.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m good,” Travis called back.It was brighter now, but the door was there.The door he entered with Iris.There were no beads on it now, it was just a peeling door.Oddly enough, it was the only door without plastic. 

When he was a child, Travis would have the same nightmare over and over again.The situation, always something scary, was nonetheless different every time.The one common thread was that after every situation, he found himself in the same old room with the same old staircase.Everything was a dark mahogany wood, that he at the time thought could only be found in a mansion.It _also_ felt closed in.

There was one door where the only source of light was shining in.The large window on the door was like a blurry screen.From what he could tell, there was grass and sun outside—it was pretty.There was also a child’s handprint on the window, in the same place in every dream.He wanted so bad to reach out and touch it.

Yet he was absolutely _terrified_ to open that door.He would wake up shaking, covering himself with a blanket.

Once again, Travis was impulsive, but scared.What was it Betsy said, a “walking contradiction?” Maybe this _wasn’t_ the right thing to do today.He clearly was not ready for this mentally nor emotionally.

But again, he didn’t listen to himself. _“I’m no bitch.”_ Like all of his former vigilante antics, he made his own choice on his own time.That was that!

He wanted to open the door, to revisit the room, but there was some kind of force stopping him.His chest burned from the pressure.Like loneliness, fear hadn’t left.

He couldn’t do it.Not now.

But someday, he had to walk inside.He could feel that something was drawing him there, and it would reveal to him a big thing.Something relevant to the rest of his life was in there.Even if he was too scared.

“There you are!” Travis jumped as the small man with the ID came up behind him.“Time’s up.Thanks for stopping by.”

“What’s in that room?” He pointed to it, hand still trembling.

“I don’t know, actually.It’s totally off-limits, even to us.No one has touched it since they cleaned it up.Ha, this is kinda funny—we have this kind of urban legend, us guys, that it’s an evil room.We get this bad juju from it.The greatest villain of all time might have made his lair in there.Evil, I tell you.”

Travis figured _his_ greatest villain was in there too.Whatever it was, it was the root of negativity in his entire life, and the life of others.And to think Iris used to service the pigs in there!

“Come on bud,” the man grabbed Travis’s arm and his elbow retracted—causing a spring gun to fly out of his sleeve.The man leaped back, and an embarrassed Travis closed his eyes again. _Dammit._

The man gripped a microphone in his jacket: “I need-“ Travis ripped it off before he could finish with “backup.”

“G-Get on the ground!”Travis put his hands on his head and got to the floor.

The man stepped on his back to hold him: “A-Are you serious?? You’re carrying? Why?”

“In case….one of you, um, found out…”

“Found out what???”

“That I used to be a client here.” That story came out of nowhere.

The man let him go, and when Travis stood up, he inched closer.He leaned over.“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes.100% truth.”

The man glanced around, then whispered oh-so-softly: “Join the club.”

“…what?”

“Join the club.Which girl did you get?”

Travis felt like he still didn’t hear the question, but this voice was clearer to him than the one in his head.“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Since I just told you, you’re gonna have to swear on your life you actually didn’t hear me.We know you were here before the shootout, Bickle.I want you to know, you’re not alone.You’re a former soldier, right? You’re one of us.But we don’t want you to end up…missing, right? Not the hero of Manhattan.”

Travis was perplexed enough to forget his own cover: “I never, I didn’t—“

“It’s ok.We all have our, _tastes_.Now swear it.”The man was far more intimidating than he initially was.

“I swear!”Travis put his hands up and threw over the gun.

“Excellent.Tell me where you live, exactly.”Travis did so.

“So which girl? I, personally, prefer em young.I know this one guy, who knows a guy, who makes porn films, sometimes underage.Snuff.Can you believe that? I saw one myself not too long ago, it’s real.”

He had Travis’s full attention now: “Go on.”

“Oh, you like that, huh? See, I knew you were one dirty birdy!You ever hear of the Oakland County Killer?”

Travis gulped. “Nope.Do tell, though.”

“A couple of kids went missing last year in Michigan.Oakland County.Funny, because Michigan probably kills enough of its kids with its water supply.New York is likely next.Anyways, so these kids go missing.Bodies found murdered.One of em raped.Then, this uber rich guy, Francis D. Shelden, has his own area on North Fox Island in Lake Michigan where he flies in young boys.Turns out, they think a whole child porn operation was going on on that same very island.Our sister department has been investigating that while we’re doing this.What I’m getting to is…do you think the killer is connected to that?”

“Um, is this just to get me to confess to something? If so, please stop.” 

“I’m not.This is real, Travis.It happened, and is still happening.”

“I had no idea.Child porn…and you said you’ve watched it?”

“Of course.Like I said—we all have our tastes.”He had a nasty grin.

The more Travis thought about it all, absorbed it all, the sicker he felt.Did he have a fever?

“Which. Girl?”

“Iris.”

“Ah! Duh! The one you saved, of course! You got a little too attached, didn’t you pal?”

“Basically."

“I get it, I get it.You can’t be that way, though.They aren’t that special.But I am surprised you went after a blonde white girl.It’s usually the racist country bumpkins that you come off as that like the little black girls. I myself don’t go for _that_ young, but, that’s just me.”

Travis gritted his teeth.He was starting to shake again, but not from fear this time.

“But yeah, snuff is something else.People make a big hoopla over it, but we never found anything.I thought it was an urban legend until, well, until…never mind,” he had that insufferable weaselly smile again.

He looked at Travis harder.“No, no I was wrong.You’re not that type of man.It’s little black _boys_ , isn’t it?”

Travis was still-faced until he smiled himself.“Oh, for sure.Dead on, man.”

“I knew it!”

“Wait, I think somebody’s coming!” Travis pointed behind the man, and he turned with panic.The minute he turned his head, Travis punched him in the face and then proceeded to smash it into the wall.“And I thought I was a dumbass.”He punched him again and tried to drag him out, but the man fought fiercely.It was a long struggle to drag him, and he had to run and catch the man at one point.Travis was the one panicking as he had to decide where to even take him.This place was a maze. _A haunted fucking house_ , he thought.

Though he was lost, he found an opening in the floor.Arms tired, he dropped the groaning man into the hole.He jumped down himself.He saw that it was another room, but more hidden.There was one lone mattress in the corner, and a shelf at the side.

The agents downstairs heard a thump and realized their partner was missing for a while.They pulled out guns and headed upstairs.

Travis stopped to listen: nothing at the moment.He reached in his jacket to pull out the long bundled rope, as well as the duct tape he brought.He didn’t know what he would find here, he just knew it was time to go back.Once more, he was right.He could not ignore it anymore: it was a calling.How else did he keep finding these monsters? He was being watched over and directed.His lost purpose was coming closer and clearer by the day.

He tied up the man and taped his hands for good measure.He did not tape his mouth because he needed more information out of him.A few more good beatings followed first.

The man cried so much, he could hardly speak.Travis sighed.He slapped him to stop.“I promise I won’t put one more hand on you if you tell me who this snuff-film maker is.”

He cried and whimpered something that sounded like “I can’t.”

“You can’t? Oh, I’m sure you can.You’re an Ameri _can_ , not an Ameri _can’t_!” He taunted.

“Uh uh.”

“Tell me your name at least.Please.You’re a heaping pile of shit, but I’m not someone who gets off on tears, not like you.Just tell me so I can stop.”

“Fuck you!” He spat blood on Travis, which disgusted him.He continued with punches until he stopped again, panting.Unsatisfied; upset with himself.“Please, tell me.”The man “passed out.”

Travis sat down, contemplating everything.White noise filled his head.He wasn’t sure what was bothering him.Anger? Sadness? Apathy?

Suddenly, they heard distant footsteps and muffled calls.The man “woke up” and had broken free with a mini-knife in his sleeve.He head butted Travis and yelled for his comrades.Travis, dizzy, had to pull himself up.

What happened next was a damned rodeo.They grabbed the other, pulling this way and that, making a ruckus that was sure to be heard.They both hit the shelf, knocking something that shattered inside of it.He was putting up more of a fight than the drunk driving druggie killer!

Travis finally got him in a choke hold.“Shhh.”He held the man steady as his limbs wrapped around him in place.Whenever he moved, Travis constricted.He used all of his leftover strength to trap him.“Don’t you say one more word.Don’t you dare.”Travis’s voice was soft and gentle, however.

The man tried to scream.He tried to bite the hand on his mouth.Anything.He tried.

“Shhh, shh.” Travis attempted to calm the man squirming in his grasp.

“S-stop…” he managed to say once free of the hand.

It went right back over his mouth and the knife dug deeper into his groin.

“One more word, I said.Hmm? One more word,” Travis softly threatened, as close to the man’s ear as a lover.Or perhaps a dog about to bite a neck.

Travis’s own, much bigger knife was aimed at the crotch.“I’m going to take away the only thing you have to prove you’re a man.”The man cried.“I’m going to cut you open bottom to top like a deer, Missy.”

“Shh, you don’t have to cry anymore.”He hoped to say that to saved men, women, and children one day too, under completely different circumstances.

Travis rubbed his head on the man’s cheek to wipe off the tear stream.

“P-ppleasee.”

“I’m sorry, Officer.”

Travis gripped the knife.Dizziness swayed him—that hit was hard.He shook his weary head.

He heard loud noises getting closer.It woke him up and another adrenaline rush hit him like an injection of speed.Bug-eyed, he jammed the handle of the knife into his captive’s mouth and taped it over.He panted hard as he slowly dragged the man onto the mattress.Taking back his gun, he clicked it back into place in the sleeve.

“Again…*pant* sorry.I’ll see you soon.”He poured water on him from a water bottle he also had brought.

Travis escaped through another hole and found himself in an underground tunnel. He felt around the damp, dark place until he had to get on his knees and crawl.He finally managed to climb upwards to another opening.It was a secret entrance outside.

Travis heaved open the hatch door and felt cold air hit his face.He shook out his hair. 

The hatch was located in a small, gated, and now abandoned park very close to the street with the brothel. Thus, no one was around to see him.He had to cover up the opening (which was already in camouflage) with snow and leaves.He hesitated, but leaped over the gate. 

Surely, if they found the man, he was going to spill everything.Travis would be implicated, and yet he walked fast.Too much pressure to think.He even forgot his own street for a moment, then had a flashback of rushing out of the _Loch Ness Inn hallway_ after seeing his name on the paper.

Back in his apartment, he collapsed face-first onto his bed, his lower half, legs and feet, kneeling on the floor; his muscles slowly uncoiled.Thoughts about the awfulness of everything he had heard and experienced kept replaying.Yet, he did go through with it, he did survive.

So why did he still feel so sick and frightened? Unsatisfied?

_I need to look more into Michigan.And those corrupt ‘cop’ fucks…That room…._

Travis practically blacked out.He slept hard the entire night.

————————————————

Travis groaned when he woke up. 

He looked at the clock: It was 1:00 PM.He drowsily sighed.

He got up off the floor, rubbing the shoulder he slept on.It wasn’t a hangover, though, as his whole body felt sore.Yesterday came back to him.It wasn’t a bad dream.

“It’s REAL” as that high-pitched bitch told him. _Ha, “high-pitched bitch.”_ That was good.

Travis found his work schedule to see when he was driving today, and check to see if he had not missed a potential morning shift.He kept yawning despite oversleeping.

He was off today!Perfect, because he needed all that time to think.And work out.After the scuffle the day before, he noticed he was slower.He’s gotten weaker.

Maybe it was too much stress, vitamin deficiency, work burnout, or maybe it was his diet.Probably, because he was slipping a little bit on that lately.

Though he hated the thought—maybe he was getting older.That didn’t make much sense, because he was still fairly young.Or so he thought; he couldn’t figure out if his life aged him quickly, or he was in reality older than what he was always told.Occasionally he did actually feel like this, as if it was intuition that he was in his 30s, not late 20s. 

Maybe he was just that: _weak_.He would need far more training and exercise.This was another one of his accurate predictions, because—

_Knock knock knock._

He opened the door to find Adam and Christina.“Hey, sorry to bother you.But you did say we could all do a workout session together today!” Adam beamed.

“I did? Oh, right.I did.Yeah sure, come in.”

Travis tried to swiftly clear the floor, and even more swiftly kicked a porno mag under his bed. 

Adam rubbed his hands: “What’s the plan, General? I’m ready to _hurt_.”

“Uh, let’s see.Looking at your body type, I’d say you’re the type to eat a lot of carbs in a day and be fine as long as you burn it off by the end of the week.Mmm, lunges and curls for you, I think.”

“Curls like curly fries? Yes please.”Travis tried to show him these moves, but Adam’s attention was all over the place. _Fucking ADD, er, ADHD, or ABCD whatever the hell it’s called._

While Adam was (fairly) practicing, Travis saw Christina trying to do pull-ups on his bar.She was half-way successful.She hung one arm off as she used the other to scratch herself, tapping her toes.“No—look right here.”He sauntered over and told her what to do correctly.She did it better this time, and was actually quite strong in her arms.At one point she said she was too tired to do another, but Travis pushed her to go on.She tried with a wobble and he attempted to hold her steady by grabbing hold of her waist.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped at him defensively.Adam saw it, and Travis was silent for a moment before lifting up his hands like in arrest and chuffed awkwardly.“Alright, alright, sorry.Sorry I have hands.”

He went back over to help Adam because Christina was boring a hole into him.Adam was trying to touch the horse Travis found after the break-in; Travis slapped his hand.Adam grabbed the hit hand.“Let’s try not to touch anything.Got it?”

After smacking Adam, Christina looked even more defensive.When she tried to walk over, Travis stopped her with a finger in her face: “That includes you.I don’t touch you, you don’t touch my shit.That’s the deal.”She felt slightly betrayed, like she was no longer his most trusted, even after the fun museum trip. 

The rest of the time ran a lot more smoothly.Adam actually paid attention and caught on, Christina did her own thing, and Travis, still rattled from yesterday, chilled out.Near the end, Adam randomly took off his shirt.“I feel sexier now.I need to show it off.”

Travis chuckled.“Hey, I’m shirtless half the damn time.” He took his off as well.

Christina was the first to notice.

She glanced at him twice in quick succession, both for very brief moments, until returning to her stretches—as if she were checking him out.

Adam noticed too: “Gee Travis, you’re more ripped than I thought! You’ve got that thin but muscular body, like an Asian, martial arts, Bruce Lee type.” For a second he considered saying something about Christina’s past attraction to Bruce, but decided it was too personal and he didn’t want to embarrass her.“How do I get my body like that?”

“Find a good routine and keep it up.”He went on to do his own routines.

Adam nodded.He returned to sit-ups.“When are we gonna lift weights?”

“Not yet.Patience, Giordano.”

They then sat around and talked for a while, Travis pretending like he had the most boring life of all time.Most of the time, he did.He enjoyed having more friends.

Soon Adam left.He had to hide his mourning and confusion over his father yet again. 

Christina wanted to hang out longer: she said she would return after doing something at her apartment.Travis was surprised, but agreed.He needed to give her something anyway.

At home base, Christina was back to caring for Hatch, who was growing more ill.She had tried so hard to nurse him back to health on her own.For what? She was still a bad owner, clearly.Guilt was weighing her down.She administered his mashed food through a tube, and saw that his spine was flopping backwards.Bad sign.This meant he was near death.

It broke her heart. _He’s just a rodent._

The phone rang and she picked up.It was her father.“Hi Chrissy.I saw that you called the other day.Sorry, I was doing my stuff, you know how it is.”

“It’s fine.And I told you not to call me Chrissy, it sounds like prissy.I always hated it.”

“It’s a New Yorker thing to end every name with ‘y.’ I got called Manny.You doin alright?”

“Sure.You?”

“I’m good, got some new business opportunities opening up.”He went on a tangent about it.He was very haughty, her father, very confident.He could make any dream a reality.He also continued to believe he was a young man.

When she tried to explain her emotional state, he responded with “Sweetie, you gotta pull up your bootstraps and get on with your life.These are small issues—small.”He always said “sweetie” when he was being passive-aggressive with her.This is why she didn’t like to share her feelings, especially not with her dad.She bid him farewell soon enough.

She paced around in her own frustration until she heard an odd sound.She rushed back to Hatch, who looked paralyzed other than his eyes and ears twitching.She tried to move him, and he fell over.It was like he was dead…but not dead.After a while there was no response, but his heart was beating like a slow little drum.As much as she wanted to stay here with him, she didn’t want to bail on Travis either.

She cradled his limp head.She pet him one last time.Then he passed in her hands. 

A hot tear leaked out as she let out a sharp breath.She leaned her head down and rested her hands on her knees, stopping any further tears. 

Travis, meanwhile, stared in confusion at a broken plate.The same fucking plate he glued back together after being broken not too long ago.The. Same. One.The pieces were scattered behind the pantry door.

Apparently, while Travis went outside for a moment, Adam went to find a snack and his sleeve caught a plate.It broke as soon as it crashed to the floor.“Shit,” Adam whispered, and frantically picked up the pieces.He threw it in the pantry when Travis came back in.He kept breaking Travis’s things.Christina was so off in her own world as usual she hardly even noticed.

Travis supposed he still had unwanted ghosts or demons.He placed the pieces back on the counter when the door opened and Christina walked in.Limped in, actually.Blood trailed under her.

She weakly smiled at him.She was barefoot, holding her shoes and socks.One foot was lifted up, dripping in blood.The big toe’s toenail was purple.

“I need a towel.”

She explained that she was in such a _rush_ to arrive, she rammed her toe into a wall corner.It was actually because she was emotional and blurry-eyed while walking around her apartment.Nevertheless, Travis immediately told her to sit down on the side of his small tub/shower.

After giving her a napkin to press on her toe, he cleaned the blood off the floor.Christina watched this person clean her own blood.First time for everything.“Why am I always the one getting all banged up? Enough,” she complained.

He fished out two bandaids and some wound cleaner and went down on one knee next to her.

“Gee, thanks, Nurse Travis.I just asked for a _towel_.”

“You’re welcome.Somebody has to be your mom,” he joked, but the reminder of her mom made mood matters worse.“I ain’t having my only few towels stained.”

“You should move in somewhere bigger and buy more equipment.I would think you’d have the money and recognition by now.”

“We’ll see,” he quietly added.There was an even quieter few minutes as Travis examined her toe.She was actually the more talkative one this time: “I think I unhinged it…that’s actually the third time I’ve done that to that same toe.The first time I had to rip most of it off.It grows back thicker every time.Fun facts.”

“Why didn’t you take care of this at home? You didn’t have to come all the way here and hurt yourself even more.”

There was no answer to that.

“Did the bleeding stop?”

“I think.”

“Mm. Put this on the uh, affected area.” He snickered and handed her the wound gel.She lightly smeared it around the toenail.“I’m gonna have to touch you.Is that okay?”

“Um, yeah.Whatever you have to do.Knock yourself out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, can you not fucking hear?”

Travis shrugged.She was coming back to her snippy and coarse self.He held up her foot by the ankle, carefully put two smaller bandaids over the toenail, and covered the bleeding spots.He had a clammy hand but a delicate touch, and it made her shiver a little.

“I know I have a gross foot,” she said while gazing at the cracked, yellowish skin, un-groomed and discolored toenails, and weirdly bent and puffy red joints from arthritis that all made up her feet.

Travis didn’t say anything about it.She limped over to a chair that was just an old wooden stool.There was a magazine that slipped off it.It was a Life issue from 1971.He kept it all this time, evidently.When she opened the pages, a few fell out.

The room was a bit messy, scattered, and disorganized.It almost annoyed her, since she liked to file and arrange everything into its place.

Travis started pounding away at a plastic bag with a meat tenderizer.Christina limped over to see, ever the curious one.There was some kind of white powder in the bag.

“Ahh, cocaine.”

“No.Sleep meds,” Travis responded, her sarcasm going over his head.“I want to see if I can make it into a lighter form, and try to do whatever with it from there.” He failed to mention that it was in fact a heavy drug to give to his captive through a drink.

“I mean, what if using that tool, it poked a hole in the bag and schtuff fell out? Just saying.”

“That’s not going to happen.I’ve done this plenty of times.You have to hit it with a specific amount of force.”

After a minute, he noticed a tiny hole.He took it outside in the hall and placed it on top of a blanket, hammering.Christina followed and squatted alongside.“Told you,” she said with satisfaction.She worked with tools all the time.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.She watched him quietly the whole session.

When they both felt hungry (Travis had not eaten in 48 hours), Travis went to making them both steaks.“Let me show you how to cook a steak that’ll make anybody want to get down on their slut knees and blow you for a nibble.”

“Teach me, master.”

He showed her what kind of garlic and the amount of butter to put on it.He told her that butter was actually good to eat.‘You won’t feel hungry for a bit longer.”

The pan sizzled and nearly popped her in the face.She didn’t need a burn too.

He let her cut it.“It looks edible.” That was Christina-speak for “great.”He forked a piece and pushed it in her face, making her bite into it.She gave him a thumbs up while chewing.

“Steaks are the motherfucking best.I just need to find a good, healthy, fresh source, and stock up as much as I can.Just in case…anything happens.I need my sustenance.”

He then showed off how he can always guess which side will win when tossing a coin.He did it several times, correct each time.“Wow,” Christina said.“Righteous.”

“I have a gift for you.”

“You do?! I can’t imagine why.”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, right?”

She was shocked he knew that.“Yes, but-”

“Here ya go,” he handed over a heavy rectangular gift in wrapping paper.

She stared at him, and he egged her on with his own eyes.Unwrapped, she saw that it was a book on torture and execution. 

“After what you told me at the Met about torture, I thought you might like this.I mean, I liked it when I flipped through it, and I find we like a lot of the same things, so why not.”

“Uh.”

“I-if you don’t like it, I can always return it, no big deal or nothin.”

“No, I like it. Thanks so much, man!” She was bad at receiving presents, and this was, well, not exactly what she expected, but it was very thoughtful of him and she had to show her gratitude.

Travis almost tried to hug her but wisely did not.That was still inappropriate right now and would ruin the whole moment.

“Well fuck me, I don’t have anything to give you,” she said.

He waved it off: “Don’t worry about it.It’s _your_ birthday.Your company is enough for me.”He hoped that didn’t sound as desperate as he was for any companionship whatsoever, even if it was a hyper teenage boy or the androgynous girl who verbally abused him at auto repair.She had a tiny smile, so it must not have come off too bad.

Also, a partner for his plan was needed.That was the main goal here, he had to remind himself.

Suddenly, Christina’s smile faded.There was deep sadness even in her stony expression.She sat back down and clasped her hands over her legs.She pressed her clasped hands to her mouth. 

Travis sat next to her.“Is something going on? Is your toe still throbbing?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what’s bothering me.”

Travis wasn’t sure how to respond, he wasn’t good at the “empathy and comfort” thing, but he tried to understand.“You can talk to me, if you want.”

“Do you ever feel like you would love nothing more than to have your nerves severed, falling out like angel hair noodles, jellied, and preserved in a jar? I would like that instead of leaking all the time.I’d rather be preserved.Look at me, I’m leaking.”She pointed to her toe and the mucus in her nose.

“Sometimes I want to coat my inner abdomen with cactus needles.Does that count?”

She rubbed her arms.Her body language was obvious.“I think I should move away.I’m not sure I want to be here anymore.”

“Explain.”

“I do not feel entirely myself.I feel…unwanted.Disliked.I’m allergic to everything here.It’s too cold.My mom is…sick, and I should be there with her.I know I’m a horrible person.Enough people turn their backs on me or insult me to prove _that_.Sometimes I doubt my own existence.I’m not like everyone, I guess.I don’t belong.”

“That is a lot.”

“I have eternal foot in mouth syndrome.I’m supposed to be the smart one, but I’m the biggest fucking idiot around.I deserve to be skull-fucked to death.The guys at work won’t even talk to me anymore.They act as if I don’t exist.Adam is becoming more distant to me as well.I should just go away, really.”

There was a pause and then Christina continued: “It’s not that I need to be liked, but God, maybe just a little…nah, I’m good.I’ll pay for it in the void of the afterlife.Right now I have to focus on the important things.If people want to discard me, that’s a-okay.If you want to criticize everything I do and wag your finger in my face, that’s perfectly fine too.Live and let live, go on and fuck the corpses of my enemies.I’m good.”Yet she wiped the corner of her eye.

Travis realized she was referring to the car ride as well as earlier.“Aw.”

There was more sympathy entering into his tone.“I never meant any harm.I apologize if that’s how it came off. 

I don’t like hearing that you’re depressed; you know I told you I just wanna see you happy.”

“I know.I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t feel this way, I know.I’m acting spoiled…unreasonable.”

“How are your animals?”

“The guinea pig died,” she said with quick stoicism, taking a hard swig of water from Travis’s mug she used. 

“Sorry to hear that.Ya know, I’ve dealt with some serious bullshit in my life, so let me say this. We are, hmm, wooden cabins.Built to last.But wood doesn’t last, we know this.We all wear down, collapse at some point.But it’s all surface material.People can change, it is possible.Every cabin needs a good reworking here and there, to freshen up.But it cannot forget that it’s a cabin.We can’t hold on to the mold, the deadwood, and the splinters that carry us down from past or present.Instead, we look at the future and what kind of cabin we will be remembered as.Don’t compare to other cabins, don’t compare to the cabin you once were unless it’s for future building.Then, it will be a truly stable structure.You are your own cabin, and you need some polishing, but no one can take your structure away from you.You’re still being built, but you’ve had a lot of good building behind you too.Don’t forget, sometimes forgive.A cabin does not need to be liked; it just needs to do its job and know what it is…what it truly is.Makes no sense, actually, but I said it.”

“Little sense, but sage advice.This is rough.”

“Welcome to life.”

“Heh, pretty much.”

“Also, I don’t think you should move.Actually, I am SAYING you shouldn’t move.” She thought he sounded like he was about twenty years older than her, and not three.

“Now Trav, I appreciate your help and advice, but don’t you _dare_ think you can tell me what to do.I will _not_ be _told_.”

“Fine then.Don’t listen to me.Keep suffering.”

She flicked him hard on the finger.He was taken aback but she looked more playful—forgiving.They poked each other for a moment.

“I hope, with Italian rat dying, the snake finally got dessert.”

“No need.She’s eating well, I assure you.Reminds me of this time, back in Mississippi, there were these woods behind us filled with copperhead snakes.I found a young one under the trailer.I took my shovel and smashed its head, because there were kids playing. 

You have to crush their skulls—not decapitate them like most people do.It’s more humane, and it’s easier to kill: they can still bite you with their heads removed.I mean I saw it, and WHACK! I JFK’d his ass. 

Though, I did hate having to kill him.I’d usually just move them, but then and there I was at risk.I do love snakes…poor thing.”

“…ok.”

“I suppose I also could have skinned its body, then nailed it to the trailer.It would warn anymore threats.”

“Humane…right.”

“’Tis a joke.”

“I am aware.”

Travis looked off into the corner: “Speaking of dessert, that’d be damn nice this time of night.”

“I think you can do it.You’re a good enough cook.My cooking is decent enough to pass for being useful and my food passes as digestible.I have…about a list of recipes I can make.Mostly lean for my food sensitivities.”

“I’ll make you my New York cheesecake sometime,” Christina added. 

“I told you I’m trying to go off all sweets,” Travis reminded.

“Oh, this isn’t just _a_ dessert.This is _my_ dessert.This is cheesecake made with natural sweeteners.It’s actually good.”

“Huh, I’ve never heard of that.But I would punch somebody’s baby for some cheese whenever, so why not.”

“There you go.” Christina casually tried to pick something out of her teeth with her fingernail while talking.

“How do you even make things without yeast or sugar?” Travis asked her.

“My mother got me on it.You have to make a lot from scratch or get the ingredients, but it’s worth it.”

“Too much work,” Travis said.

Christina rolled her eyes.“Do you even have a Crock-Pot?”

“Sounds womanly.”

“I know dude, I thought so too, but it’s useful as hell.”

“No, I don’t have one.I’ll probably just order one from a catalogue if I have to, and wait for it to arrive.”

“Or,” Christina raised her finger, “you could just _go to the store_ and buy one.”

“I don’t want to go to the store,” Travis whined but chuckled.

“It would be so easy though,” she sighed.“Whatever.Eat…lettuce.”Though she was smiling again.It was her faint, barely existent smile, but it was a smile.

“Oh—how did you know my birthday is tomorrow?”

“Adam told me.” Travis winced and hoped Adam would keep his hole shut.He couldn’t bring up the legal paper fiasco again.

“Ironic, I was born in winter and I hate it.I get so fucking down that I _want_ a downer and hibernate 24/7.I think I have that, what is it, seasonal depression.”

“Isn’t that pretty normal though?”

“Perhaps.If it is, I’d say I love winter—only to spite all those who share the majority opinion.I’m of the belief that the rebellious view is typically the better.Unless it’s the rule of law, in which case everything is and should be under it and subject.I based my whole college thesis on that—a fine argument.”

“Why should the rule of law be followed?”

“Because it’s natural, and rooted in religious affirmation.”

“Who decides what religion has the best law?”

“It’s universal, so-“

“—so it’s rooted in a universal religion.”

“Sort of.I, I can’t really get into it right now.”

“Then it’s not a good argument, is it?”

Christina blushed as Travis “limited education” Bickle just smacked her thesis like Adam’s hand.Damn that man.

Travis ignored her scowl to take apple cider vinegar and lemon juice. “I’m sure you need to get back home, so feel free to go.I won’t be offended and pull out my Luger, I promise.”

“Doubt that, but it is pretty late.Thanks again for the book.”

“You bet.Goodnight.”

“Evening.” 

Then it hit him.This was all for finding the second-in-command.After the torture talk, the snake skinning talk, and all her other morbid behavior, he wondered.After her closeness and comfortability with him, he wondered.

Was she—

— _like him?_

She started to walk towards the door, but he stood in front of it in a flash:“Actually…”

She raised one of her sharp eyebrows.

“There’s one last thing I have for you.”

“And?”

“And, you’ll have to go along with me somewhere to see it.”

“Another time, I’m sure.”

“Trust me, now is the perfect time.”

She sighed.“Where is this ‘somewhere’?”

“Just follow me.”She walked behind him out of the apartment and into the outside.It was a beautiful night, with a navy blue sky and a few twinkling stars.There was a light dust of snow falling.Christina watched her breath cloud in the air as she stepped over sidewalk and snowbank.She knew this _likely_ was not the smartest idea.Why exactly did this man want to be alone with her in a place she didn’t know? And was so adamant about it?She still followed, however.Curiosity had again taken hold.

Soon they were in the abandoned park, standing over a metal-like opening.Travis opened it with a creak.Christina peered down the shadowy depths.“And just WHAT, is this?”

Travis jumped down it and Christina widened her eyes.She shifted around.

She shakily stepped a foot into it, the good foot, and ended up falling fully down.

“OW.” Half of her hit the ground and the other half Travis caught.He took her hand and led her through the tunnel.She tried to squint and see something in the mostly dark atmosphere.Her vision was bad enough without glasses.Travis could primarily navigate due to military training.

He climbed up one very short tunnel and came out another entrance.She lifted herself up, then tried to brush the spider web out of her choppy short hair that resembled a bowl cut.

Travis took out a lighter from his pocket and shone it on the sleeping figure: beaten, bloody, broken.Expressing pure fear and loathing when catching the painful sight of Travis.He tried to scream, but something was muffling him.

Travis, smiling, turned to Christina hoping to find that she was finally happy.

He didn’t even need a lighter to see that she was white as a sheet—a sheer look of horror.

Christina ran straight back into the tunnel and crawled, then sprinted, then jumped, then in desperation clawed her way outside, even if she ripped more nails in the process.

Without closing the hatch door, she used the best of her athletic ability to run away.

It all happened so fast, Travis had barely the time to react.


	24. Love and War Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so these next three chapters are all the same storyline, but split into three parts for room. Part 1 and 2 that I am now posting are more slow-burn, and focus mainly on conversations, thoughts, and relationships. Hopefully not too filler lol--it is necessary for the build-up. Part 3 should be a lot more riveting, less wordy/dialogue-oriented, and has a little action. I'm trying to finish polishing up part 3, which will be uploaded very soon.
> 
> Also, you'll notice heavy use and imagery of phones ringing and people calling each other in these here chapters. This is on purpose. It was to create more of a sense of anxiety, because I know I feel anxious when a phone rings or I get a call lol.

_New Year’s, 1976_

There were fireworks, and then there were fireworks that tried to mimic the facial features of Uncle Sam in the sky.

Betsy crossed her arms in her white coat.This was the last day _of_ the year _of_ the Bicentennial.She was trying to watch the fireworks show for New Year’s Eve, and of course it was as patriotic as it could be.Betsy actually liked it that way.“Yankee Doodle” finished playing on drums and flute a few minutes ago.Find the music and the step, and with the girls be handy!

Betsy was standing next to her father, who had come down to Manhattan for a brief business meeting.“It’s not that long of a drive,” he had said, “and I’ll do anything to see my first girl.”He and Betsy had a close relationship from the time she could talk.Her younger sister, Georgiana or “Georgie,” was closer to their mother.A woman who didn’t always have the most considerate words to give to Betsy.

“That’s actually rather frightening,” her father said of the Uncle Sam face.“Why not just show off fireworks that look like dollar bills? Nothing represents America quite like that, in my opinion.”

“Good point,” laughed Betsy.“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yep, let’s do that.Though I’ll have to go back to my hotel tonight, and get up early tomorrow.I’ll be leaving in the afternoon.”

“That’s fine, Dad.I’m sure you’re going to dominate it as always.”

“Thank you Bee.”He put his arm around her for an affectionate hug.

Betsy was soon alone in her apartment, watering her plants and feeding her fish…but not for long.Tom came by, his first time staying over.He was teaching Betsy some cooking skills that she _lacked_. 

“What else are you gonna do tonight? Get in your PJs, curl up, and watch The Wizard of Oz?”

“You know I’m more of a Clockwork Orange person.”

“I came back from the gym.I used to be a real sports guy, you know,” Tom said.

“The chess club, maybe.”

“Have you heard anything more from Sandra? I still can’t believe what you said.”

Betsy sighed.“Luckily no.”She sighed even harder: “These _people_ , they think they can say the nastiest shit to me.But if I dare fight back, if I dare say something back to stand up for myself…oh, I’m the most stuck-up, spoiled bitch in New York.Huh, figures.Do they even hear themselves?”

Tom widened his eyes and shrugged.

“I really should never have snapped and screamed like that.I-I have no idea why, why that even came out of my mouth.But man…it kind of feels good, like just a little bit.And you keep putting up with me Tom, God bless you…or Yahweh bless you.”

“I’m not putting up with you—I’m encouraging you.”

“You’re awesome, Tommy.”

“Oh, my dear, do I try.”

She put her hand on her hip.“I don’t even try to start trouble, and people…do not like me.”She put the other hand on the other hip.“But I stand by what I said.”

“Good for you, Betsy.”

Betsy was trying to rub down the pork loin with seasoning as Tom instructed.She acted as if she were afraid to touch raw pork.Parasites, or, something.Yes, certainly something.

“Why are you only putting it on one side? You have to do both sides,” Tom pointed to her mistake like he was waiting the whole time he had known her to do so.

“Well gee, I don’t know! Your instructions are _not_ clear enough.” Betsy was flustered.

“I’m sorry,” Tom had to hide his smile.He showed her how to chop Brussels sprouts in perfect form and he himself peeled two potatoes.Betsy washed her raw meat handling hands with fury.

“See? It’s not that hard.You’ll be a big girl who can actually take care of herself in no time.”

Betsy threw a potato at him.“Ow.Don’t waste the spuds!”

“I can cook…it’s not _good_ , but I can damn well cook, Thomas.”

“Start by stirring these sprouts with some butter, then,” he handed her the pan.

Betsy was not used to being the one bossed around, that was Tom’s position, but there was something she kind of liked about it.And Tom certainly would agree.He pulled out another pan that knocked over others in the cabinet, causing a loud clang.

“Careful, Tom.”

“Why are your pots and pans so big? Nobody needs this.Nobody.”

“I do! And they were on sale.”

“These pots are bigger than Jimmy Carter’s shit-eating peanut grin.”

She laughed.“What do you have against Carter? Goodness.”

“We all have something against Mr. Peanut if we were work for Palantine, you know this.”

“I must have missed that memo over the sound of useless, expensive Christmas parties to plan.”

“Oh, right.Why was Travis Bickle there, you think? That was weird.”

Tom was still confused, _and_ frustrated about Travis.He went from being a creepy, greasy, perverted weirdo that took poor Betsy to watch porn with him (probably to test her out for the real thing later on) to tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious in a flash.Meanwhile Tom was still the friendly, uninteresting geek.Simply put, he wasn’t the “bad boy” in this situation.It was like high school all over again.

Betsy scooped the Brussel sprouts onto a board.“I’m not really sure.It was definitely a surprise, but I enjoy seeing him whenever I can.”

Tom was unsatisfied with that answer: “It’s funny, because just over a year ago he was telling you to die in hell.I remember because I had to be the one to drag him out and threaten to call the cops.”

“Call me crazy, but he seems to be past that.I think he wants to fit in, and be a normal member of society again.I have no problem putting our problems behind us, being his friend, and helping him get to that place.” She had a distant smile.“He’s a supporter.”

“I thought he was conservative?” Tom wondered aloud, making up his own guessed stereotype of Travis.“He’s apolitical if anything,” Betsy replied.“I like him.”

“Yeah, but he’s a psycho, Betsy.”

“You don’t know that.He’s just scarred.”

“I’d say it’s pretty obvious.Like I said, he almost ATTACKED YOU last year.And then, you know, he shot, what, three, four people? He’s manipulative and he’s got bright colors all over him warning you to stay away, like a fucking spider.”

“I think he’s quite charming.”

“So was Ed Gein.”

“Tom, you sound really jealous and catty tonight.Is there something you would like to tell me?”

Tom was under the interrogation light now.It was time.He had to wipe the sweat from his palms on his pants, and his breath and heartbeat quickened.How was she going to react? What if their friendship crashed and burned? Only one way to find out.But first, he needed a cover on what he was going to tell her—to hold off his nerves for a bit longer, obviously.

“Bets, you ever had an orgasm worth talking about?” Fantastic—that was what came out. _Nice, Tom._

“Ohh, have I? Mmm, yesss.”Betsy rolled her eyes and tossed her hair along with a flamboyant hand movement.“Oh yes I have, darling.”

“You’re lying…”

“I do have those graceful long legs.”

Tom gaped at her.“You’re naughty, wow!”

“Oh shut up.This is ridiculous.”

“It’s sexy, is what it is.”

She wiped down the counter, and Tom bravely spoke further to her: “I mean, you really are stunning, Betsy.Sometimes I feel like I can’t even touch you.Maybe I can’t, because you’re the pitch perfect image for the prime Neo-Nazi Aryan woman, and I’m a Jew.”He laughed, but Betsy was now looking at him with little expression on her face.“You’re beautiful.Seriously.”

“Thank you.That’s not all you wanted to say, was it?”She slowly put down the rag.

“No.”He walked over to her, standing close.“ _Hell_ no.”

They stared at one another for a full minute before Tom opened his mouth: “Betsy, I’m sorry…I’m sorry for what this might do, but I want you to hear it.I, um, I’m in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Betsy needed to know if this was a joke or not.

“…yes.For years, actually.I’m not pulling your leg, I promise.I am seriously fucking in love with you, and I don’t know what to do with myself about it.No other lady can compare.”

“Years..” Betsy whispered to herself, her eyes darting from the wall to the floor.

“Are you…good…with that?” Tom asked, half-smiling and half-cringing. 

“It doesn’t surprise me.”

That was it?

“I guess I always knew you had a thing for me.It’s just, I don’t know, I always thought that men and women could be friends, without love or lust coming into play every waking moment.That’s what I thought we had, and what I wanted to keep.”

“We _are_ friends! This doesn’t change that.”

“Oh yes it does.Yes it does, Tom.First of all, we work together.Nothing pleasant comes from coworkers with a spark.People notice.You run the risk of distraction, firing…Second of all, I can only see you as a friend.Anything more than that…it’s not right.”

“No one has to know.And why would it not be right? We understand each other more than most of the goddamn couples out there.I’m not saying you have to love me back Bets, but please, please, give me _something_.”

“Give you something? What does that mean?” She was getting offended.

“Not like that, I mean, I…” Suddenly he found that he couldn’t articulate feelings very well.“I don’t want to be just friends,” he busted out.

Betsy sadly looked down at her shoes.“I do feel alone.I feel it, quite a bit, actually.”

Tom got even closer.“But it doesn’t bother me.I’m independent and I jive with it.”

“Everybody needs somebody.”Tom smiled at her.

She smiled back.“And you think you’re that somebody?”

“I can try to be.For you.Unless you bitched on me like with Sandra…then I’m dropping your ass to the curb.I seriously do love you though.”

She saw the clock—it was almost midnight.“Well…I still don’t know about that, but I do know I’ve never been kissed on New Year’s Eve.You wanna teach me that too?”

Tom was quiet for a moment, and then “Fuck yes I do” came out in force.

They inched closer until their faces met and noses rubbed.Tom felt her soft face and silky hair as he pulled her lips in to his.They shared their first kiss the minute before midnight.

They were a little awkward afterwards, but both were happy—Tom was on Cloud 9.Betsy rubbed her arm and moved farther away from Tom.“Well, erhm, that was…nice.Happy New Year!” She threw up her arms.“We better eat and pop open the champagne, before it’s all gone stale.Then I guess you better boogie.”

Tom snapped his fingers into a gun-point.“The Jungle Boogie!”

He hoped she would say more, though, and not leave him hanging.If she was playing around with him and still insisted they were only friends, happy-go-lucky Tom would be frustrated-go-bitter Tom soon.As long as he didn’t take rejection like Travis did, he finalized.

Thus ended 1976.

——————————————

February 12, 1977

I got myself a new journal!

It took me forever to find one I wanted.There were many to choose from at the thrift store, but I needed one that felt like it was “calling to me.”So I chose this brown leather book over the yellow, which reminded me of piss.This one is thicker than any I’ve ever had, and I think it will last me a good long time.It also has its own bookmark, which I like to touch.

You have to forgive me, I have not had the time and energy to write lately.I’ve been lazy about work, which usually I’m fully committed to.So I have had to make up for it.It’s making me more tired, I’m sleeping in far more than I should.I’m tired of being tired.

I am also a bit depressed.I had an awakening experience at Iris’s brothel not too long ago.I think it is making me upset, because I keep having disturbing dreams and I wake up with sweat burning on my neck.I’m slow, I haven’t washed in a second.I want to think of words to say here, but they remain locked in my head, and anything on paper would sound like nonsense—even worse than the radio I keep hearing when I close my eyes and try to nod off in my cab.

I’ve been keeping a man alive for two weeks now.It’s mostly what I think about.There’s an ongoing investigation on what happened to him by the New York City police, but somehow those incompetent meatheads have not found him in the room I keep him in.He’s a fighter because I thought he would die by the third day—but I have done a good job keeping him alive to suffer.He refuses to talk to me, though, and it angers me something fierce.I hate him and men like him with every fiber of my being.As I was saying, they want to question me since I was last seen in the brothel with them.Of course—I would have thought that in the first place.

I have no idea what to say, and I don’t want to be alone.I need someone who could defend me, because I am confident that I’ll be in jail fairly soon.

This is doing nothing to help my God-awful anxiety, I tell you what.Sometimes I can barely feel my arm.I feel pains in my gut, my head, and my ankles.My heart has an extra beat to it that I did not know was tha-ere.

My passengers have been quieter, though.I don’t mind, because I don’t speak much to them for a good amount of the time.One man did try to goad me to talk.“You don’t like to jabber, do you cabbie?” He had rattled.

“Not usually,” I said, “I wouldn’t know what’d you want me to talk about, even so.”

He was displeased.Oh! There was this one really annoying thing that happened the other day.I was driving three college students, two guys and a girl, and one of the guys and the girl were macking (is that a word? I wonder) all over the other’s face. “Where are we goin?” I asked nicely.They damn near looked at me like I was a spaz with tentakels (tentacles).I thought they’d say something close but instead, the lady said, “Right over there, just go left and it’ll be on the right.Can you do that?”I thought to myself, “Where the fuck is ‘on the right?’ Give me actual directions, please.Sit down and see these sights while you’re here, ‘cause I’m not going any faster and getting myself a ticket on the job.Like I can’t see you kissing in the back…you think I don’t watch you in the mirror? Germs.That’s what you’re spreading.Germs.Germs brought down fucking Europe to its knees once.I gotta stop thinking, I gotta look at theroad and the meter.I can’t stand to see another garbage bag blocking me.Here’s the left—it’s got some half-torn garbage bags, just so you know.Enjoy your mouths with that floating in the air.Shit.”

That’s only what I was thinking, though.

I told them “I certainly can,” smiled, and dropped them off where I guessed the destination was.

I think Valentine’s Day is one of the dumbest things to come out of the modern mind.It’s supposed to honor a martyred saint.Instead, it’s an excuse for people to whine about being single and waste money on what they call “love,” which from them I barely understood the meaning of anyways.Most don’t celebrate it around here, it’s a pretty small holiday and it passes by without notice, not like Christmas.I forget it pretty much every time.It’s just a work day to me.Although this year I decided to shake things up, kind of.I’m just that bored.

I want to give a card…to Betsy.I know, she’s supposed to be the stuck-up priss who broke my heart, but since my last few interactions with her, I feel like, possibly, I might could make this work if I tried.I still mostly feel for her as a friend, but I also don’t feel like going out and meeting new people only to have them stand me up.At least Betsy still _likes_ me.It’s nice to be liked.

On a similar subject, I really screwed up with Christina the other night.I was just trying to be there for her, and I did something that clearly undid that.I called her twice the next day, and both times, she didn’t pick up.I stopped bothering her, but I did see her when I walked into the repair shop.I didn’t do anything.The boss there told me to make an appointment or get out.I ignored him because I met eyes with her across the room.

The door to the garage was left open and I could see her talking to someone in there, power-drill in hand.She caught sight of me, and we both stood in our places in this intense staring contest.I stared at her and she stared at me—there was no movement at all in her body.I’m afraid to say I was the first one to back down.She then continued to talk to the person and shut the door.I left after that.

Naturally I would let it go, but…she saw it.She saw what I did.She has the information to tell.It’s yet another thing that’s making me damned restless.Though she’s still lending me books, so I guess she wasn’t _that_ offended.

I do have one bit of good news: I’m moving.

I decided it was indeed the right thing to do, especially now that I could be locked up any second.I didn’t want that horse cult knowing where I live anymore either.I’ve already been robbed once.It was super easy to pack because I don’t have a great deal here.A lot of my shit is in various boxes from a junkyard at the moment, scattered across my tiny apartment.I still have my stove, table and chair, and bed unpacked and in use. 

It’s almost kind of sad.I’ve been here so, so long.This apartment has known many of my things, and seen many of my breakdowns.It’s been with me when I first arrived in this city, and it was with me when I washed it with blood and bile for a sweet girl.A sweet girl that I am also sending a card to.

But it has to be done.It’s finally time.

And if Betsy ever comes to visit me, I want it to look _nice_.Fucking _nice_.

————————————————

Travis actually did send a couple personally written cards.

He had Betsy on his mind quite a bit lately, as the two had grown closer over the past few months.He kept trying to stifle the feeling, to pretend it was all strictly platonic and would remain so, but her rare charm and graciousness that she had shown to him was not leaving anytime soon, just as Travis could not leave this apartment any time soon, even when he told himself he had to.Travis longed for things that were familiar to comfort him—this apartment was one of those things.Betsy as a person and an idea was tied to uncomfortable tension, but something about her familiarity drew him back as well.She hurt him but he wouldn’t hurt her; he only wanted to hold her, just one time.He wanted it since he first saw her as graceful as a dove feather at that street near Broadway.When no one could dare touch her.

Even if they did remain “friends” for the rest of time, Travis wanted that moment: that touch to see and smell, or else the frustration would overtake him once again.He was trying his hardest not to keep reliving the same life.

Though he always knew he was designed to keep ticking forever.It was his curse.

He bought four cards for her because he could not decide which one she would like, or really which one _he_ liked.The cupid one was classic, the dirty one was risqué, the one with the puppy hugging the heart was cute, and the one with low-brow “poetry” was simple, but effective.It would have to be the last one then: the best was usually the last.Plus, Travis liked the pattern of taking to the last of things.

He wrote with a pen, and immediately made a spelling mistake.He viciously scratched out the word and tried to redo it above the black bar he had made.He used his best handwriting to say something affectionate to Betsy:

_“Thank you for being there for me.Good luck with work.You are a beautiful perSON._

_Be well, my friend._

_-Travis.”_

That was good enough, he thought.It was not too long, and it was to the point.It also was not over the top, and was friendly enough to hide his need to simply fuck someone, anyone, right now.He put it in a red envelope.

Iris’s was next.It was actually a blank card that was left from someone who dropped it in his cab.It was a little torn at the corner and had a dirty piece of tape stuck to it.He flicked off the tape and straightened it out with his tawny fingers.He wrote in pencil this time:

_“I hope you are doing well.I send you good wishes, and success for your future.Don’t eat too much candy because it’s bad for you._

_Happy Valentines!_

_Travis.”_

Perfect! He stuffed that in a pink envelope and used a smiley-face sticker to pin it down.He was not a holiday man, nor understood the basic definition of what love even is, but for once he actually felt like he contributed to the “normal buzz” of consumerism.

The other cards were thrown in a bag in case he ever needed to be a sappy fairy for someone again.

He laid out and counted the stacks of money he collected for his move, and for whatever else he wanted.Dollar bills were filthy, yet he liked the smell, he liked the feeling.If he worked harder, he would gain more.Who fucks with a rich, powerful man with a grudge and a violent determination?

The next day, Travis took a break from driving to run some errands.A florist in the middle of the street offered him a free rose.“Oh no thank you, I don’t-“ he started.

“Really, take it! Give it to your sweetheart!”

“Well, alright.Thanks.”He sniffed the rose and gave a tiny smile and nod before going back to his walk.

His first stop was the DMV to update his license plate.He’d been here so many times, it didn’t irritate him to the same level as it did most people.Nevertheless, sitting in a chair for an hour was grating on his already grated temper.

He had to repeat his information to a very old woman being trained, and typing on a typewriter as slowly as humanly possible.“How are you today?” She asked him sweetly.

“Fine,” he answered with quiet civility.She asked another question: “And may you tell me your address?”

Travis had to think fast: tell them or not tell them his address? He was already entrapped.Whatever, they’d never know.He told her his address, which she oh so slowly copied on paper.

He felt more assured of himself.He handed the rose to her and asked, still hushed: “Would you like this, gorgeous?”

She laughed, flattered.“Oh how sweet! No thank you, but that’s a good joke.”

“You’re welcome.I’m sure it’s boring here, I’m just uh, spicing things up.”

The woman helping the old lady was black and had gold eyeshadow.Her name tag said “Janet.”Janet finished him up, and talked with him while the license plate was being situated.They spoke on their jobs as government workers and cab drivers.They were on the same “rung,” but Travis was having slight problems emphasizing. 

“You know what, cause I can vibe with you so much, I’m gonna let you come first in the line next time,” she then winked at him: “and cause you’re a handsome bugger.”

He gave her the rose.“Maybe we can talk about it more sometime, somewhere else.”

Janet rejected the rose too.“Oh no hon, I’m married.” She held up her ring finger.

If someone’s glare could burn another person alive, Travis was currently giving it to this woman.“Then why would you _flirt_ …with me?”

Janet was tiffed: “Excuse me?!”

“I said thank you for everything, ma’am.Have a great day.” He smiled in an “aw shucks” manner as he waved and left.

Travis had a complicated relationship with women.It’s not that he didn’t like them—he was a heterosexual man—of course he liked them.Yet he could not stop himself from believing that they were placed on what he called a “pussy pedestal” far too much.They were more likely to be believed.They were more likely to be catered to.They were more likely to take your money, your time, or even your very soul.They were not physically strong, so they had to use their looks as their weapons.They could be disrespectful, too loud, too demanding, or hypocritical.The universe of a man need not revolve around what a woman had to offer—at least, what the working woman of today could, he concluded. _Entitled hags_ , he had thought of them before.

At the same time, even with these accusations he had put forth, Travis rejected cruel treatment and felt that he was especially good for defending and/or protecting women.He actually could understand them, on some level.He often got the short end of the stick too.He wanted to see them become better people as much as he did the men.Particularly on his heart were the shambled women and girls, who couldn’t help their situations.They needed help lest they fall further down that dark staircase, and become themselves the epitome of that cruel treatment, self-destructive and _due_ for destruction.

He’d finish the job with his own hand, if it ever called for it.

Take Iris for example.She had been corrupted while she was still in development; to learn how to think for herself.But he put a stop to it, because he couldn’t bear to know someone with so much heart, potential and youth left could be robbed of it, or at least attempted to, and no one would stop it: not the clients, not citizens, and clearly not even the police.Travis deeply felt for Iris, but he could not help but worry about her mental state.God forbid she follow Sport’s footsteps.Given how much trauma she was exposed to from a young age, and then continuing with the trauma he had given her (that was evident from his last visit), how much could a single person take without snapping, or returning to filth? They had similar lives and paths.What if she eventually became like him? Either fed up with it all or embracing it all as no other choice.Killing herself in her despair, or taking revenge and endangering others.What if one day she repeated behaviors until she herself became the degenerate, the abuser? Travis couldn’t stomach thinking about that.She had to be and stay herself; not become the potential female version of him.

He browsed lamps at a carpet store, and sent his cards through the post office.

He also stopped at the library to pick up a new book.He actually wanted to read this one.It was a book on the CIA that detailed its operations, open and secret.Travis had an absolute fascination with anything secretive, and especially anything government related.It was not so much he was interested in dark things, though he could _certainly_ handle that, but it was more so he wanted to know how things worked, or how the world worked.And he knew that everything was much more than it appeared.There were layers much like the city itself.Confusing layers, sure, but something that can be revealed, and then understood. 

He read each interesting detail, and wanted to try to figure out CIA puzzles himself along the way.He oddly related to the agents at times, thinking he might could work on the field or for the think-tank type of work dealing in propaganda.Perhaps even brainwashing.It would be a trip to be able to brainwash, he thought, and he’d enjoy it.He supported everyone’s independence, everyone was free to choose and free to make their own mistakes, but sometimes he had a longing to control people.They couldn’t even try to fight against him as everyone came to bend to his will and his rules, and those alone.It would be better for them: a soft, milky stream enveloping them in its arms and saying “It’s okay now, I’ll take it from here.”Then no one could ruin the dream of stable life on Earth.

But that was just another childlike fantasy of his, like becoming a secret service member.

He was so caught up reading and walking, the only thing to jolt him was a sharp hit of cold ice to the face.He was stunned for a moment before wiping out snow from his eyes.He blinked again, and another snowball hit him in the face.“Hey!” He wiped the water off with his sleeve and looked around.There were other people on the street and in the street of course, but no goofball with a snowball anywhere nearby.There was only a little bit of melted snow on some parts of the ground.He kept walking and was hit in his shoulder with ice.

“The next person who hits me…IS GETTING THEIR THROAT SLIT OPEN.”Travis hardly ever yelled.

The wide eyes of the group of children he now saw silenced him.They were holding packed snow and ice in their hands, and their educator or watch-person with them also stared at him.

“Ah hell, I-I’m so sorry.” He said it in a far more soft-spoken, polite tone.

“It’s my fault, I wasn’t watching them.Sorry about that,” she guided them with her hands to walk away.“Apologize and let’s go, guys.”

A few mumbled “sorry” and then a boy told him “your face is funny” before leaving.

Travis felt so out of it.These silly things happened to him throughout his life, but seemed to be getting more frequent.It was a low, dark cloud that followed him, made fun of him, and played with his sense of reality for, what? The fun of it?Who knew.For most people it would be funny incidents, coincidences, the like.But for Travis Bickle, it was only a reminder that he couldn’t escape from always dangling on the precipice of something.

He subconsciously wanted to touch his mole, swollen eye sockets, and high cheekbones after the kid said that.He leaned against an alley wall and took out the rose again.He was actually sort of acting weird today, and that’s probably what everyone for the past few hours were noticing, he figured. _Stop being a loon and wake up._ He shouldn’t have snapped at the children or the women, and should have gone on with his business.He should be generous, and act like, oh you know, _a normal, functioning human being_.Disappointed in himself, he let his thumb trace the sharpness of a thorn before snapping the rose in half and discarding it in the alley.

He needed sleep—badly.

Perhaps as a last chance to try to redeem himself, though, he decided to call Christina again when he returned to the complex.He had her number already memorized, much like he had almost every street photographically memorized, or the faces of his passengers.He could remember all that, but not their names for some reason.

The phone rang for a minute as Travis could feel himself tense up again, but it had to be done.This was the last bandaid that needed to be pulled off before he moved on to an even more nerve-wracking mission ahead involving the police and an ex-brothel.She better not have told anyone.

A very bored, low, and tired voice answered: “Hello?”

“Hey Christina.It’s Travis.Is it alright if we talked for a minute? Just a minute.”

“Ohh GOD.”

It was clear that she was about to hang up straight away, so he spat it out quickly: “W-w-wait! Hold on, let me just…let me explain, no, don’t hang up-“

“What? What do you want?”

He had to look down at the note he had written with a prepared apology and conversation so he didn’t stumble too often on his words.“I want to talk to you.”

“Well, you’re doing that.”

“Yeah…um, where do I begin….look, I’m sorry, reeeaalll sorry, about that night.I’m not too sure what I was thinking, but I supposed you wouldn’t be too upset about _it_ ,” he said “it” in reference to a beaten man, “and I’m sorry.I’m sorry to scare ya like that.”

“Oh, you mean the final nail in the coffin that you’re still hurting people even after the shootout? That you’re just as screwed up as I thought?”

“Here’s the thing; it’s hard to explain but he’s not a good guy, trust me.I know it’s…shocking, to say the least, but I did what I had to do.I had to restrain him and it got a little…messy.But I’m not a serial killer, I can promise you that.”

She scoffed: “Ok, first of all, why would you ever think I’d want to see that?”

“I don’t know.You seemed very interested in violence, and torture, and you always say some fucked up shit.I just thought…I don’t know.”

She sighed, and whispered what sounded like “Ay-ay-ay.”“Yeah, that’s the thing, you _don’t_ know.Listen here, Travis.I have a lot of interests.A _lot_.When I talk about them, I am saying so because it applies to the situation at hand.I take something I like, and I share it with others to start conversations—that satisfies me.If I have an interest, then I express it until I go along to the next one.Just because I was talking about those things, doesn’t make me want to actually commit those same acts…Christ Almighty.How do I know that’s not an innocent man you fucking tortured? I did _not_ want to see that, Travis!! It’s been haunting me ever since; nightmares I’m sure coming soon.”

“What about the stuff you used to say?”

“What about it?”

“Never mind.What I’m most worried about right now is you telling certain _people_ about what I did.Please tell me you didn’t.If you didn’t, why don’t we just agree, for the best of both of us, that this never happened and go along with our merry lives? Whaddaya say?”

“I did not.But that can change…” She enjoyed having this power over him.

“Yeah, let’s not and say we did.Eh? Thanks for not running to the cops first things first, I guess.”

“You sound…afraid.”

“Obviously.I’ve got a lot running down my back…never mind, like I said, never mind.It’s, it’s nothing shameful to be afraid…we all have it sometimes. _You_ were that night, which is why I was saying sorry.”

“I was afraid because I realized I couldn’t trust you, not because of gore.”

Travis felt a little more guilty after she said that.“You can still trust me.I’m not a slippery kinda person.”

There was a long, eerie silence on the other line.“Uh, hello?” Travis finally asked.

“I’m still here,” she said, a little quieter.She sounded like she had someone nearby and couldn’t allow them to hear her.

“Good.Where…where are you at the moment?”

“None of your business.”

“Alright, no need for an attitude.Sorry again.”

She chuckled, then hung up.

He looked at the phone like it itself had snubbed him. “Hey, HEY.” It was only when he felt his hair did he realize he was still soaked from melted snow, sweat, and a cut on his forehead from a rock in the ice.He hadn’t even felt it.

He was even more nervous than before, but didn’t have the time to beat himself over it.He needed a nap before his night shift.Before dozing off, he shook a Magic 8-Ball.“Do I actually have a sweetheart?”

_“ASK AGAIN LATER.”_

“Fuck you too, you kid-friendly experiment in witchcraft.”

———————————————

Less than two weeks earlier, on January 29th, Adam was having an early dinner with his mother and Christina, whose birthday was the day before.It was only 4:30!The sun was just beginning to go down, but there were still orange light rays through a blind.

Adam ate as much stuffed shells as he could manage, especially since his mother, quite proud of the dish, put about a truckload onto his plate.She brought out the special occasion plates with brass rims.

“So you liked it?” She grinned at her son.

“Of course.I said I did.”

“Wait, that’s right.I’m a little dizzy today.One of my spells, I’m sure.Well I’m so happy you liked it! I tried a little different garlic this time…I hope it tasted fresh,” she cringed.

“I can’t tell the difference between what herb is what.I just dig the food,” Adam said.

“Yes you do! You’re my good eater,” she poked him in the rib, and he looked embarrassed.

She sighed, then her gaze turned to the fridge.“I have a dessert too.You ready?”

“Please Ma, I’m about to burst already.I ate a lot even _before_ I ate this.I’m good.”

“Ditto,” chimed in Christina, clutching her full stomach.

“Nonsense! You’re both far too skinny anyway.”She put the semifreddo on their plates before they could object with another word.

“Imagine if we could get stuff like this through the vending machines at work,” Adam said with food in his mouth, and a smile.

“Mhmm,” was all Christina answered.

In fact, she was very, very quiet through the whole time she’d been there.Adam spoke up: “Are you feeling good? You’re all to yourself and you look kinda pale…more than usual.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but she was looking off into nowhere as she said it, and her leg propped up her arm. 

“Bad day at the job?”

“No.”

“Did ya fall in your shower?”

“No.”

“Is it me? Oh man, is my breath _that_ bad after that spoiled tuna?” He smelled it in his cupped hand.

She smirked a little.“No, Adam.Nothing’s wrong with me. Don’t you have homework or some shit.Something important?”

“I’m just checking in on you, that’s no crime.”

Then it hit him.She was with Travis, alone, a day or so ago.He left early.

Adam turned gravely serious as he lifted his chin and gave the last question:

“Did he do something to you?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

She turned her face down, which gave enough away to Adam.He felt growing anger.He trusted Travis. He rode with him, he thought he was a good, cool guy.Then he found out he had killed his dad, and even Iris sometimes tried to avoid him, and she _knew_ him.And now this?

Adam nodded.“Let ME talk to him.We’ll see what _I_ do.”

“Oh en-ough.You wouldn’t do squat; this is an ex-Marine we’re talking about, dummy.”

From his reaction she could see that she was too harsh with her words, and said: “But don’t get me wrong, I deeply appreciate your concern.It’s sweeter than molasses.”

“That’s what friends do.Are you sure he didn’t-“

Christina shot up from her chair and grabbed him by the shoulders so hard he flinched.

“He didn’t do anything.At least, not what _you_ seem to be implying.Now I need you to really listen to me.”

Adam shook his head, still feeling a bit sick, and then motioned her to go on.

“You’re my best friend, right? Even with the age difference, we always have each other’s backs, and can trust each other, right?”

“…right.”

“I’m always, no matter what, going to do what I have to in order to protect you.My advice today is that you stay away from Travis.I can look out for myself, and trust me, I will handle him.But I want _you_ to be safe, and smart.Got it? Don’t worry.Just stay away.”

“Oookay.”

“One more thing,” she continued, easing her grip, “You never did tell anyone, including Travis, about what exactly was in those legal papers…correct?”

Adam gulped.“No, not at all.”

“Awesome.” They hugged, but Adam remained feeling off.

His mother walked back into the main room, whisking away to the kitchen.Once she saw the ginormous stack of dishes, that familiar feeling of regret after making a big meal came back another day.She rubbed her temples: “Ergh, I cannot do this.I want some tea and bedtime.”

“Another headache?” Wondered Adam.She’d been having them since the Christmas drama.

“Yes sir…mph.”

“Why don’t you go to bed, Ma, you’ve done enough.” He tried to hide his worry.

Christina offered to help.“I’ll take care of the dishes.You go rest.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that, Christina.”

“I want to.I actually kind of like washing dishes, believe it or not…weird huh?Plus, single moms in need are friends indeed.” She smiled.

“You are just the sweetest, I swear!”

“Uh, I don’t know about that.Yesterday I encouraged Jake, Rufus, and others to drink until they heaved and threw up—right on the garage pavement.It was funny to watch.”

Mildred eyed her, but was smiling herself.“Sounds a little dangerous to me.”

For a second, Christina looked angry at Mildred, even if it was only one criticism.

Then her own smile returned.“I guess you would’ve had to have been there.”

“I hope she’s alright…geez,” Adam softly said through his lips.

“She probably needs some alone time.”

“And there’s no man in the house, ya know, except for me.”

“So she’s sexually frustrated then.Solved.”

“Ew, stop.”

Christina gazed off, as if some deep thought was forming.“Imagine there was this giant horny woman, and she just walks right into New York City, looking for a proper dildo.She finds the Empire State Building….fucking engulfs it up in there…”

“You _really_ need to learn to think before you speak.”

————————————————

Tom was not a hateful person.There were few things that he could say he hated.

Taxes were among them.

“This is when I start hating government…and I work in government.” He talked to himself as he was looking over bill and form after bill and form.His hand pinched his forehead while the other hand was scribbling the numbers on paper.

He wasn’t even good at math, but somehow he always would get the assignments that involved numbers.

He narrowed his eyes as the digits seemed to smush together before him.All of his problems were turned to economic translations to colligate.Maybe he drank too much last night.

Drinking meant his mind battered down into embarrassing situations, and that meant he may have said something to a female coworker over the phone at three in the morning.There was just no way out of being Tom, was there?

At least he had one woman to appreciate him.

“Bubbie?” He called, “You ok in there?”

His grandmother was painting the back room today.Yet he had not heard her moving around for a while, not too long, but a while. 

“Bubbie? Hey!”

He sighed, getting up from the old, rickety wooden chair—the type he’s seen since childhood.A lot of the objects surrounding him had been in his family for generations.They were proud people like that.Tom knocked on the door.“You good? Need some help?”He opened it.

“Oh my God.”

He ran over to hold his grandmother, who was unconscious and had blood under her head.He lifted it up to see.She must have fell from the ladder and hit the sharp ledge of the old splintered shelf.He kicked the shelf, as if he were punishing it in his anger.

“Ok…ok….um…ok.”He laid her back down, and returned with a towel to place under her head.“Come on Bubs, pull through for me.”She couldn’t go out like this.She’d already been through so much, the old bat.Tom had to contain himself, with a weird mixture of sadness and extreme panic.

He walked quickly to the phone to call 911.He stopped them from calling the ambulance, saying he would take her to the hospital instead.The operator sounded confused, but Tom couldn’t afford thousands of dollars just on an ambulance these days.

Once he had admitted her to the hospital, he now ran to their phone.

His next call was random—or so he judged it. 

Betsy was in her apartment’s family room, stretching her body out on the couch and watching TV.A day off at last.Someone else could handle the storm that the campaign had been in for literal months now, and the mysterious events that surrounded it.It had certainly taken the wind out of her, even if she did try to reorganize it and figure it all out.

She stuffed her face full of potato chips when the lavender wall phone rang from the kitchen.She turned up the volume.It rang again.And again.

“Come on,” she whispered in frustration, finally turning off _Little House on the Prairie_ to pick it up.It felt like she was on and off answering calls for weeks now, and couldn’t even handle…

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, hold on!”

Betsy expertly maneuvered through Manhattan traffic to get to the closest hospital.She had been here before a year ago when she almost cut her entire finger off trying to cut a cucumber, of all things.After a hassle with parking, she rushed into the front room to ask for Tom’s check-in and room number.

“Yes ma’am, Rachel Kaplowitz was admitted to the upper floor.Here’s the room number.”

“Thank you so much.”

Betsy was hurrying when the lady at the counter called, “Love your hair, by the way!”

“Thanks!” She smiled and rushed upstairs.

She almost walked into a different room, having to slap her arm to wake herself up.She went into the _next_ room, and found Tom watching Bubbie on the bed.The nurse demanded who she was, and Betsy, nearly out of breath, had to explain everything.

“I invited her,” Tom informed. 

Betsy hugged him.“Tom, I’m so sorry.What the hell happened?”

“Beats me.She was fine, and then she….wasn’t.”The nurse left.

Betsy pulled up a chair and looked at Bubbie.“She has to wake up, she has to.” Betsy knew better—Bubbie was tougher than leather.The first time she met her, she told Betsy she looked like Marilyn Monroe, if Marilyn had a huge stick in her ass.She was offended at first, but laughed about it later. 

Bubbie knew the two were coworkers, but assumed they must be something more since they were always together.Betsy had also seen pictures of her when she was young.She was reminded of Lucille Ball in _I Love Lucy_.

Tom crossed his arms.“So what have you been up to?”

“Taking a break.A much, much needed break.”

“It’s been insane, what’s happened.”

“I know.I think it’s making me insane too in the process.Betsy for the Asylum, 1977.”

“Well don’t go taking it out on me, I’ve got enough taxes out the ass to keep my own sanity tested for the moment.”

Betsy looked at Bubbie. “Oh-“ She turned back to Tom.“-you _poor_ thing.”

“Hey, you’re fucking rich, aren’t you.Of course you wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m not rich, my family is just _well adjusted_.”

“Yeah, yeah.Thanks for coming, I don’t know if I could do this alone.I’m sure when she wakes up she would love to see both of us here to support her and take care of her.”

“I know.I mean, I guess it is a bit odd that you wanted me of all people here; I would think you’d call up family, if anyone.”

“You’re not family, but you’re definitely someone close to me…” He looked at her with a small smile, referencing their first kiss that happened on New Year’s Eve.She blushed, and as if on cue, put on some chapstick.

“We’ll have to talk more about that another time.”

They both cleared their throats when the nurse came back in with a doctor in tow.Betsy was restless. _Mixed feelings, I think._

————————————————

“Miss Steensma, I hope those are notes you’re writing down.”

“Yes sir.”

“Great, because this is important.Attention, everyone, did you hear me? I said this is important, so get your papers and pencils out, please and thank you.”

Iris had quickly turned the page containing her various sketches made out of boredom to a fresher page.“For notes.”

The lights above were hurting her eyes as per usual.She had no clue where she developed a sensitivity to light, but she did know that she spent a sizable amount of her life in the dark.

Since she came back home, she had learned that she was sensitive to a number of things.Lights were brighter.Noises were louder.The words from another’s mouth were sharper.

Iris tried her best to ignore these phenomenons, thinking that to focus on them would only add more stress to her mind, which would lead to more stress on her body.That would lead to something she could not completely control, like crying, impulsive thoughts or sayings, or maybe weight gain, and how her parents would tear into her for such irresponsibility!

At least she was in school—she could be preoccupied with grades and a friend or two.Many kids worried over these topics, but for her, it was a new, and still riveting experience that she thought she may never have the chance to go through again.

This afternoon, however, she was sketching and counting down the hours until it was done.

Every time someone became rowdy, they were quieted.Iris was thankful because she was annoyed by the lot of them.She felt for her teacher, and wanted to thank him for his patience not just with the class, but also with her.Although somehow she was too shy to do it—to thank someone, especially an older adult.Odd for the almost never shy Iris.

During study hall, Dina slid in next to Iris in their seats.Dina was Iris’s only real friend in the entire school, and she had the same biting sense of humor that only Iris would “get.”Dina took out some supplies from her backpack, glancing around, then placing it on the table quietly.

“Ahem.Iris, hey.”She elbowed her friend to where she nearly dropped the biology book she was reading.

“What, dude?”

“Check this out.I got these candy hearts from Melvin, the cu-“ The study hall proctor walked by and she lowered to a whisper.“—the cute one from Algebra.I thought we could share ‘em.Happy Valentine’s Day.”Iris remembered that the date on her notes paper said February 14th.She had forgotten it was a holiday, or even a worthwhile one to remember, at that.

“Thanks, Deen.” She grabbed a few and popped them into her mouth, attempting to silently chew hard candy.She wiped the sugary dust off on her page on plant cells.

“I also picked this up from the adult section in the library down the street.”She pushed a novel in front of Iris, with the same countenance as a drug dealer sneaking in drugs.It was a dirty novel.“We should read it after next period.After the newest Nancy Drew, of course.”

Iris stared at it for a moment, not saying anything.Seeing Dina’s expectant face, she finally answered: “I would, but, you know, somehow I feel like sex doesn’t appeal to me.”

Dina realized what she had brought in, remembering what Iris had been through.“Yeah, uh…heh, sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” Iris shrugged, “but this candy is even more awful than you.”

“Whoa, what’s your damage? Irate Iris is back.”

“Wow, ‘irate.’ You’ve actually been doing your language arts homework for once, instead of me doing it for you every fucking, chicken-plucking time.”

“You’re the one who needs to watch their language, sheesh.I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”

“I just hope the soap she puts in my mouth is hand soap, lemon-scented.”They giggled, and a female teacher shushed them and pointed to their textbooks.The teacher gave Iris the particular look that she had received from many teachers, most of them women.It was as if they knew exactly what she had done, and wanted to shame her for it.

At least the male teachers were more obvious with their stares.

Walking out of the gym to her mother’s car later on, she was stopped with a tap on the shoulder.It was Neil.

Neil was a short, thin, geeky young man who was sickly and had an infatuation with Iris.He wanted to give her a card he had made in art class.

“Would you be my Valentine?”

“I’m not really into Valentine’s.”

He sadly looked down on his own card.

“But sure, I’m your Valentine.” She smiled at him, and he managed to smile back.“Thanks for the card, my man.See you later.”

“See you.”

She then hugged him and fist-bumped him.“You know Neil, you’re a rad guy.I like you.”

He weakly fist-bumped back and mumbled something.Iris couldn’t hear it as she was rushing to get out of the door.The sun blinded her when she entered the outside.Why was it so bright?

_Why was it so bright?_

Ivy Steensma cornered her daughter as soon as they arrived home: “How was your day?”

“It was good.”

“Well I’m glad it was good for _you_.I had a terrible day, just terrible.Would’ve been nice to hear you ask how I was doing for once….all I do for you.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.How was your day?”

“I told you how it was.”

“…I’m gonna go get the cold stuff from the back of the car.”

“Good girl.”

Iris returned to more questions.“Did you eat something? Something sweet? I see powder on your lips.”

“Um, no, no ma’am.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I didn’t.”

Ivy walked over to Iris, peering down at her.“I hope not…we wouldn’t want to ruin tonight’s special dessert!”

Iris tried to grin: “Heh, nope!”

“Then put that ice cream away.”

Iris escaped into the kitchen with the dairy.She desperately needed to swallow the anxious spit that had just built up in her mouth—suddenly, it _did_ feel like soap.

It was a few days later.Iris was attempting to paint a scene of ducklings to music, when someone knocked on her door.“Irie, there’s some packages for you downstairs.”It was her father, Burt.

“Cool.I’ll be right down.Thanks.”

Burt smiled, fingering the door knob.At work, he wore business suits.At home, he always walked around in wife-beaters and his boxers.It made Iris uncomfortable, but she could do little to change anything about her parents.

The packages were laid out on the dining room table.Iris unwrapped an unusually tall one to find that it was a glass vase of purple flowers, with a strong plum-like smell—irises.

“Holy cow.” _Who in the world…_

In another package was a heart-shaped, red box of chocolates with a gold bow wrapped in between.A note was attached to it.She slipped it out to read it:

_I’ll be honest, I don’t know if you still like me, or even remember me.I don’t blame you if you don’t._

_Though that doesn’t mean you haven’t left my mind.I hope you’re doing well, and please, please forgive me, Iris._

_I’ve forgiven you, after all._

_I know flowers and chocolates are square, but here you go.I couldn’t decide between a tin or a glass vase, but the guy I ordered it from said glass was more popular.You’re welcome._

_Love,_

_Adam Giordano - that New York kid_

Iris was stunned.She had tried to push that entire fiasco further and further from her head with every passing day.She was surprised that _Adam_ even remembered _her_!

She didn’t know how to respond, and was already unused to receiving extravagant gifts like this.A gift was not going to make up for anything—a girly gift at that—yikes—but something stirred her about it.She felt a bit more towards that New York kid then she had in a long time.Between this and Neil’s card, she sure was popular all the sudden.

The last gift came from the mailbox.It was a card that Iris had to peel a sticker off to access.Her insides stirred further after seeing it was from Travis.Though this one was shorter, and had chicken-scratch handwriting.

Travis, alright.

Ivy barreled in to see the contents, now opened.She grabbed the card out of her daughter’s hand to look it over.She then saw the flowers and candy.Ivy was rather disturbed: “I’m not so sure about this.He is a grown man.You’re a-a teenage girl…what the hell…no.”

“Just the card is from Travis, Mom.And it’s innocent.The rest is from Adam, the boy that came with him last Thanksgiving?”

“Right, right, Adam.I don’t know about him either.He sent all this to you?”

Iris nodded, avoiding the chocolates.She wanted the chocolate, but even simple shapes such as hearts had bad effects on her psyche.They were often drawn on the walls of the places she visited. 

“Adam and the rest of these boys better back off my daughter.Honey, if Travis said anything…odd to you on that phone call, you would tell me, right?”

“What phone call? The one on Christmas?”

“What else would I be talking about? Yes.”

“I’d tell you.He didn’t say anything, like, _incriminating_ if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m only asking.I also wanna know if you feel for him, in a certain way.Because it’s perfectly fine and normal if you do.”

Iris realized that her mother thought she might have some kind of schoolgirl crush on Travis! Well, _Ivy_ may have a thing for him, but her?

“No.Fuck no, Mom.No way.You were literally just dissing him for sending me a card.”

“Hey—watch your mouth.I don’t want to hear that word.”

Iris bit her lip and rolled her eyes, out of view of Mrs. Steensma.As long as she didn’t tell her father what she had said, or her attitude, she should be alright. 

“If those start stinking any time soon, I’m throwing them out.”Ivy did not say anymore after pointing at the flowers; she left Iris alone again.

 _She’s just jealous_ , Iris thought. _She doesn’t get ivy vines from Burt.She doesn’t get anything from Burt.The bitch isn’t even getting screwed._

Iris knew how disrespectful her thoughts were, but she could care less.When she spoke out loud, she did as her grandparents told her, and addressed them as Mom and Dad, ever so gracious.But in her own inner world, she said whatever she wanted, and called them by their names…if that was their real names.

Yet, they weren’t the most intimidating people to talk to that day.It was after dinner when Iris was in her room, drawing goofy and obscene images with marker over the faces of models in magazines.Seeing the clock, she knew bed time was coming soon.That is, until the phone in the hallway rang.

Iris was afraid it would alert her parents, so she picked it up.“Dina, knock it off.”

“Iris? Is that you?”

“ _Yeees_.Who might this be?”

“Adam.”

“Oh-oh, hi!”

“Huh, hi.I know this is weird, but I wanted to see if you got my stuff in the mail.”

“I did, yeah.Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.So…you’re not freaked out by it…or…anything?”

“Why would I be?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have a peaceful leave the last time I was there.Things were said…I guess I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after that, and I was angry at you…you sure it’s fine?”

“It’s okey-dokey.I think we should forgive each other and go on at this point.It’s not like I didn’t enjoy our time together before the fallout.”

“I did too.That’s good, though.I agree—definitely.”

“I should go before my mom or dad yank the phone outta my hand.”

“I get you.Thanks for picking up.Call me if you have anything else to say….you know, if you ever want to talk.I’m right here.”

“I will, Adam, I will.”

“Sweet.Talk to you soon, I hope.”

“Goodnight.”

She hung up fast, but couldn’t help the smile on her face.She suddenly realized that she missed him far more than she thought she ever would.If only she hadn’t told him the truth about his father, maybe this situation wouldn’t be so difficult.

What was she supposed to do, though? Lie to him?

Adam, meanwhile, had been thriving on his own scared thoughts from the day he sent those packages.What if they got lost on the way? What if it was delivered to the wrong person? What is she didn’t like it, or didn’t even see it? What if he was simply a loser trying to lather up a girl who could likely care less if he even existed? It’s a good thing this was done secretly: the guys would have had a field day with this.

He decided on iris flowers for obvious reasons, but everything else took literal hours for him to finally choose as “right.”He really had little to no idea what he was even doing. 

When his mother was out of the front room, he paced in circles—enough to make dents in the carpet.He kept rubbing his hands.Even when Shawn came over a couple days after calling Iris, he was failing to hide his jumpiness.

“You must have drunken two pots of coffee this morning,” teased Shawn.

“I don’t remember.Is drunken even a word—don’t you mean drank? Drunken is someone who’s just wasted, I think,” Adam surmised.

“Whatever.You seem extra jittery, is what I’m saying.”

“I know.It’s probably that exam coming up.”

“Yeah…thanks for reminding me.”

Adam and Shawn discussed and then hotly debated the intricacies of Starsky and Hutch and whether DC or Marvel had the superior characters, before deciding that Batman and Spiderman were equally the best of DC and Marvel, respectively, and always would be.

Of course, politics were mentioned too.

They were watching TV when the phone ringing caused his mother, lying down again in her room with a headache, to groan and yell: “Adam, answer that phone, please! ADAM!”

“I heard ya, Ma.” He turned off the TV, which Shawn complained about, but tuned out his friend to pick up.

He already knew who it was.

“So you decided to talk more, after all.Nice.”

“Not for long.Don’t get your hopes up, Adam Ant.” Iris sounded less sad and more playful today.Relief that he would not recognize until later was washing over Adam.

“Probably not for long here either.Not the best connection, so don’t be shocked if we break up.”

“Who is it?” Shawn asked from the couch.

Adam raised a finger to his lips.

“If we break up..” Iris giggled at that.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know, that phrase is funny when you think about it.”

“Do you even eat chocolate? You’re not allergic or anything?”

Iris paused: “What dirty heathen doesn’t eat chocolate?”

“My aunt doesn’t.”

“Dream on, Adam’s aunt.Yes though, I really like my gifts.Really like em.I don’t know why or how I would even be deserving of such _luxury_ , but what are you gonna do?”

“You deserve everything.”

Iris didn’t answer for a moment.She then said: “I’ll take what I can get.I hope I can see you soon…if that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, which I totally understand if it does.”

“Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“My mom’s calling, so I have to go.Have a neato day.”

“Oh.Sorry to keep you on, then.”

“No more sorries! No more sorries!”

“Mkay,” she chuckled, “have fun with your pathetic life, Mama’s boy.And thank you.”

“No problem. I love you.” He said the last part so fast, so quietly that she barely caught it and he mainly hoped that she didn’t.

“Um, beg your pardon?”

“I was talking to my mom.Bye Iris.”Adam was beaming even in his embarrassment when he hopped back onto the couch with an extremely curious Shawn.

They both knew their mothers wanted them to cut off contact.That was not their stumbling block.The only thing holding them back was their own fears of what they had both past them and ahead of them on this new street.Truthfully, they were acting mostly on feelings, and self-interest.What was that famous, dumb phrase I always hear, Adam thought, where I never know what it means?

All’s fair in love and war.That was it.Impulsive and hormonal teenagers may _actually_ know it all too well.


	25. Love and War Part 2

Though Wizard was speaking his heart to Travis, Travis’s brain was speaking to him somewhere else.

It was a war memory.He was in his bunker, above a soldier who had joined the others that day in mocking him for being supposedly dim after making an obvious mistake, and never joining in on conversations, preferring to stay alone.

“You couldn’t count to 500,” the solider chided.

Travis got down from the top bunk to kneel in front of the snoring soldier below that night.He folded his arms on the man’s chest.The soldier woke with a fright, and saw Travis staring at him directly in the dark.

Travis calmly said: “Did you know that you took 550 breaths? You looked so peaceful.”

“Travis? You there pal?”

Wizard’s familiar voice returned him to the present.“I’m here.”

“Good.So I’ll be returning the dice keys to that stupid ass customer that left it under the seat, and hope to _God Almighty_ I don’t get thrown in the slammer.Should I go to the police station instead? God, I don’t know.”Wizard lit and dragged a cigarette while his forehead tightened.

“I think if you’re a cabbie it’s not as big of a deal to go to the police first.I think we’re licensed, or at least allowed to do that.If you can’t track down the passenger, that is,” said Travis.

“I believe I can, and I believe I will.”

Travis nodded solemnly.

Wizard blew smoke.“But you’re the big hero.You could easily get the passenger to come to _you_.Yet you’re still out here driving for hours upon hours.”

“I gotta pay for stuff.”

“Don’t we all?”

Travis continued: “While everybody else is loungin’ around, I bust my ass so that I have enough in the bank for not just myself, but my future, and any partner or family I might have.I-I, I think about those kinds of things, you know.”

“And that’s why you work the longest and hardest of all of us, right?” said Wizard.His tone sounded like a mix of admiring, teasing, and jealous.

“Meh, I mean, I’m good at it.It’s a confined space, but not a cramped office either.It’s not even about the money, really…I just want to work and provide.” Wizard shrugged, but agreed.

“I will certainly take the money, though.” Travis smiled as Wizard sniggered at that.

Travis soon found himself back in his apartment, most of it now packed in boxes, and was rehearsing the map routes on his wall again.He knew the entire state by memory.Tracing new routes with a red marker, he was improving his map.

Though something was off.He looked closer—he had made a mistake.

He confused two roads with each other, labelling them wrong.He had to cross out the previous names and write down the right ones.His detailed layout looked ugly—a reddened mess.

He slapped himself for being dim, like in Marine training.

After a number of rides, pick-ups, and destinations, he then went off-duty and set on for his next goal of the day: something he had been wanting to do for literal months.A day ago, Christina had called him and told him she was in Mississippi.She asked if he could stop by her apartment, and check on both the state of it and the animals.

Travis was immediately confused, because she had explicitly stated that she couldn’t trust him anymore.Couldn’t Adam do it? Yet, she asked for Travis specifically, citing little more than he was more perceptive, and could fight off any invaders (she said this bit as a joke).He agreed with some suspicion, especially since she remained having the power to tattle-tale to police over him.

The best part was when she said that she wanted him to go through her file cabinet, find her lawsuit from September of last year, and confirm some information back to her.Apparently she had a court date there in Mississippi for that very case, and she wholeheartedly believed that Travis was the only one who could handle the sensitive information detailed in the papers, and hopefully understand.Adam always became easily overwhelmed or befuddled by it.Though it may be illegal, she gave him permission to read parts of it—what he had been wanting to do since he found out—and she knew.Travis’s first instinct was that this had to be a test; especially after the whole trust issue thing of late.At the same time, however, he was dying to know.And, if he turned her down, she might not talk to him ever again.He was lucky enough she called back and entrusted him with such a personal matter.

Travis drove to her apartment and found the key, which she revealed to have hidden under a candle in a hanging lantern near the door.He knew where her _key_ was.To her house.She must have regained her trust in him really, really quickly.

Not that he was complaining.

After unlocking the door he checked around the inside opening, using a branch from a bush to detect any traces of secret alarm systems, cameras, or dare he think it, traps.Hey, you can never be too sure, right?He’s nearly died just going into old buildings before.

The ground-level apartment home was quiet.All of her stuff was still there, and so was the dust.The windows allowed the only light to come in, so no lights were left on and no machines were left going.St. Augustine was curled up on a chair in the parlor, opening his eyes to see Travis.Travis was not a pet owner but he knew they needed food and water, or whatever.He went into the room with the python and tarantula—alive.Christina had said to leave them alone, because someone else was coming over to take care of them.He noticed the empty guinea pig cage. 

The snake remained fascinated by him.There was a dim light left on over her area.

He found the cat food and the bowl in the kitchen.He cleaned the water bowl, and put fresh water in it.Augustine’s eyes were closed again.Travis tried to get his attention by making a kind of kissing sound that he had heard people use with their dogs at the park, and learned to mimic.Augustine was awake and ticked off.Travis sort of understood, because he too was nocturnal and hated being woken up.He then snapped his fingers at the cat, whispering “Hey” and pointing down to the bowls.

The cat yawned, stretched, and hopped down.Once he started eating, Travis was in a rush to get to the gems of Christina’s privacy.He went inside the small extra room, the one he once thought was a guest room, and found a cramped space with a tiny desk and a drawer.Inside the drawer, important files were tucked neatly before him.He avoided all of her receipts and tax records to find the file that he remembered seeing at auto repair.He took out the coveted lawsuit, and began to read the first few pages. 

It already caught his attention, but not in a good way.

The first paragraphs were typical legal information, and he wrote it down.This was a case that apparently went all the way back to 1973, and was ongoing. 

Flipping through pages, he found news articles stapled in and got a good gist of what she was in trouble for:

_“University of Mississippi student sentenced one year in prison for sexual misconduct and battery.”_

_“Scarred woman who sued University of Mississippi student says she believes her scalp being ripped off was not an accident, but in fact done on purpose by said student harasser.”_

_“Professor Ken Rawlings of the University of Mississippi speaks: says he knew student who allegedly hurt his daughter, says she was always ‘troubled.’”_

_“A local young woman named Christina Valdez was arrested today on charges…”_

Travis had to skip it over.His gaze landed on a description of the charges:

_“….Ms. Rawlings says that Valdez touched her, including a few instances of groping, made completely inappropriate comments, kissed her, and later, she has recently revealed, inserted a hard object into her vagina after drugging her.This was before the unfortunate incident where Ms. Rawlings was inspecting a car under Valdez’s watch, and was scalped in the process…”_

Travis slowly laid the papers down on the desk.He bent his thumb on his other palm, lost in thought.He picked the papers back up.

Another clipping from the same newspaper had a grainy black-and-white picture of Christina in handcuffs, angry as ever.The next photo included in the papers was a sketching of her in court.The last photos were her mugshots: she had a black eye and busted lip in front and side view.

_“Christina Valdez has vehemently denied all allegations.”_

Travis had a light touch as he reshuffled the papers back into place.He made sure the door was shut tight and locked tight upon leaving, the key hidden again.In the taxi, he was left to scour streets.The noise was fading out.Not even the sight of someone urinating in the street or an interracial couple holding hands could fuel him.His mind was on something else entirely, simmering on its heated stove.

When a woman coming out of a club tried to wave and call to him, he pretended that he couldn’t hear or see her despite being very close by, stuck in traffic.His head turned the other way when she stuck her thumb up.She scoffed, glared at him, and entered the next cab instead.Travis finally drove into another lane, retiring early for the night at about 2:00 AM.

Travis practically threw his clipboard and full money box on the floor, then softly moved them as if to reverse “hurting them.” He grabbed the rotary telephone he had bought recently, so he didn’t always have to use a public telephone.He was so furious that heavy huffs left his nostrils and his finger almost broke the spun dial.“You better pick up,” he breathed.

In a dainty, musty room in Jackson, Mississippi, Christina was in her mother’s bed, sleeping right next to her in loving gesture.Her mother squirmed awake when she heard a harsh sound from the hall.“Baby,” she tried to feel around and grab her daughter.“Christina.”Christina didn’t move.“Christina?” She checked her temperature, then shook her until Christina mumbled, “Mm.”She was just that much of a hard and heavy sleeper.

“Goodness child, you scared me.I think the phone’s ringin’.”

“We’ll call back…tomorrow,” Christina yawned, then tossed to the side.Travis Bickle suddenly came to her mind.Her eyes opened with frantic realization and she leaped out of bed.“I’ll get it.Go back to sleep.”She bounded out the door and her mother continued to think something was wrong with her.Though there was a certain assertiveness Christina possessed that made her own mother take her advice.She tried to fall back asleep.

Christina rubbed her eyes, and picked up.She was dreading this, but she knew it was coming.“Howdy day.Would this be a Travis I am speaking to?”

“Well, well…you’re one sick puppy, aren’t ya?”

She glanced at the clock in the cracked light from the bathroom.“It’s almost three in the morning, man.You couldn’t wait another day?”

“I’ll call when I damn well please.I figured you were up anyways.So, do you want to discuss all this trash? Because I tell ya, I sure do have a _lot_ of questions.”

“Discuss it with me then.I’m listening.”

“I’d rather you fill me in, actually.I want to know every fucking detail down to the _nub_.”

“Did you even read the whole thing? It’s all in there, dipshit.Go ahead and give me a call when you’ve actually learned how to read beyond first-grade level.”

Even _hearing_ her snark again set Travis off.Though he did his best to compose himself, and to stay as calm as his usual demeanor demanded.

“I read enough.”

“I know it’s hard to take in, but I think we’re even now.What with you showing me your morbid art piece of a man’s bound and gagged body like some kind of bizarre BDSM session gone wrong, and now my dirty little secrets unearthed from the past…like you so kindly hounded and snooped on me for, remember?”

“You sexually assaulted and apparently fucking mutilated a girl.I think I’ve gotten the point across well—there’s no comparison.Funny how you’re still shamin me for that, actually all of your piss-take accusations over time, when you’re sittin up on your high horse doin this shit.Hypocrisy at its absolute finest.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“And you’re a sex predator.Tell me, in your opinion, which is worse?”

“I think we’re done here.”

“Like hell we’re not.I’m going to find out, Christina.I’m gonna, mm…. _put you back._ ”

“You don’t have the balls…except to stalk me, apparently.I’m not afraid of you, not in the least.”

“You should be, because _cleaning up_ is something that I, well, I’m good at.”

“Threats.You’re threatening me now.Excellent.”

“Well, you shoulda never given me your number, or house key for that matter….”

“Hey, you know what? Hear me out: never call me again.Understood? Especially while I’m here with my very ill mother, who you are scaring out of her wits with your late night calls.Fucking psycho.”

“…or tell me where your mother sleeps.”Christina breathed harder.

“See you soon,” Travis hung up.

Earlier that day, Christina was actually having a good, peaceful time.It was something she missed so dearly.Right now, all she had to be concerned about was readjusting back home.

As much as she missed most of it, there were parts she didn’t.Perhaps the biggest and most obvious reason was that even reentering this place meant she was reentering a painful memory of everything that had ever been hurled at her—every insult, every accusation, every stone.

Everything that had twisted her life and squeezed it of its joy.Actually, she couldn’t remember a time where she did feel joy in the majority of her life.Still, the whirlwind she faced alone before her brain had even fully developed in every chemical needed to face such winds tripped her up enough to prevent compassion.

Simply, it was hard for her to accept that she was such an easy target.The perfect target, actually.It was like she was chosen.

But it was done.It all happened.Not much to do about it now, except for an alternate road to go on: far from the past.

It was nonetheless a literal breath of fresh air to be back in the country and lush green woods, looking upon the old trailer of her childhood.It was a little rusted in some parts (she could surely fix it) and had vines growing into one side, but it stood in the same place, with the same plain, poor dignity.

She closed her eyes.She let the gentle, humid breeze caress her rough face. 

She soon had to leave before anyone nearby could even possibly recognize her.Not today.

She stopped to at least catch a glimpse at their fenced area, where their guard dogs stayed. The dirt corner where she played with other kids.The soccer field, the sight of many games.

She couldn’t stay there long, either.Again, there were mixed memories.At least the sun seemed to welcome her.She needed warmth.

She drove to her mother’s house in a rental car, where Mrs. Shirley gladly greeted her at the door.Her house was technically her husband’s house, Christina’s step-father, Mr. Shirley.She had a distant relationship with him—he was a bit strict—but she held him in high regard for caring for her mama and paying her medical bills.

It wasn’t long after she was settled in that her mother engulfed her in a hug.They had a deep conversation, at one point Mrs. Shirley telling Christina: “We’re gonna get justice for you, hon. _Real_ justice.I promise.”

“I wouldn’t worry that pretty head about it.”

“I certainly will! What they did to you…I can’t even bear to think about it,” she put her hand on her chest, coughing.“Swine.The whole lot of em.”

“Well then don’t think about it.I’m going to be fine, Mom.It’s you…it’s you I want justice for.”

Her mother was forlorn.“I know, I-I know you do.” Whatever had happened to Christina, it was related to something that also happened to her mother, and the latter was clearly traumatized from it.Christina squeezed her hand.She was a broken woman, but a strong one too.

“I say enough of that,” Mrs. Shirley said, “Let me wash your sheets real quick.”

After that night-morning with Travis, Christina was ready to return to peace the following day.Let her have this time off!

She was eating ribs and black-eyed peas, one of her favorite dishes, while her mother watched.“Heaven’s sake, are you starvin’ up there?”

“Like an Ethiopian kid,” Christina said with a mouthful, barbecue sauce on her lips.

“Well calm it down.You’re gonna choke on your late birthday meal.”

Christina’s mother went on about recent news and gossip as Christina shoveled peas.“Ugh, I never liked that joke of a woman anyway.Oh, and just so you know, that girl that used to live nearby for years, she moved away.”

“Which girl?”

“Nellie, remember, she had the hair down to her waist-“

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Didn’t you say something to her once?” Her mother asked.

“I told her she looked like a fat walrus and you smacked me in the face for it.I don’t see how what I said was factually incorrect.”

“She had that rare kidney problem and she bloated all up.”

“…oh.That’s right.Dang, I’m sorry—I’m sure that hurts.”

“Teh! I’m sure it _does!_ ”

“Point is, I grew up out of that…thankfully.”

The phone in the dining room rang, and Christina, completely and utterly annoyed, stopped chewing. _But of course_.

“Who keeps callin’ us??” Her mother turned around, but hurt a port in her chest while doing so.

Christina licked her fingers, wiped her hands and mouth on a paper towel, and said: “I shall see.”She kissed her mother on the cheek before going into the dining room.

The voice on the other line was far more gentle and polite this time around: “Christina, I read the whole thing.I’m sorry.”

“What did I literally just tell you mere _hours ago_ about calling me?” Christina was sneering and whispering at the same time.

“Sorry, what?”

“What did I tell-”

Travis cut her off: “I was in a flurry I think yesterday…I-I didn’t think to read to the end, and I blew a lotta this outta proportion, so I am apologizing.I went back into your apartment to read it again, by the way.I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, and thanks for the apology.What I want you to do is stop trying to make contact or threaten me and my mom, know what I mean?”

“Am I bothering you?”

“No…”

“Then why do you want me to stop?”

“I’m on vacation for a few days.”

“Oh. Ok. I’ll let you go then."

“Did you ever get that information?”

Travis told her what he had written down.

“Good luck with your court day.I surely hope you find yourself on the truth’s side.”

It was sort of passive-aggressive, and there was a brief silence.“Don’t hang up on me again.”

“I wouldn’t hang up on you again.That’s just _rude._ ”

“How nice of you,” Travis replied.

“I guess you wouldn’t want me to be…not nice.”

“What happens when you’re not nice? Ya gonna send someone to smash my kneecaps with one of your work hammers?”

“Sure.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s the one with the threats now, eh?”

“Stop calling me,” Christina said in the most coldly professional voice possible.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t keep pickin up, stupid rug-munching bit-”

Lo and behold, she hung up on him again.Probably for the better, because his normally hidden away angry and aggressive side was about to spill out one more time.He liked to think he was a nice person, when he at least didn’t hate himself—not even talkative or upbeat enough to insult others.But she was one of the specific types of people who brought it out of him.

He honestly didn’t know if it was for the worse or the better, like therapy.

Christina pulled out scissors from the drawer and cut the phone cord.She stepped into the kitchen, where her mother was wondering what had happened.“Uh, so…the phone cord snapped…I stretched it too far.”

“Dammit, Christina! Our new Princess telephone? That was mighty expensive!” She ran over to get a look.“What’s he gonna say…”

“I’m too rough,” she said with feigned embarrassment, now trying to lick shreds of meat out of her crooked teeth.

The next night, Travis had his rotary phone ring in the early morning hours.As if his insomnia _and_ paranoia were not already enough to deal with.

Apparently, while Christina insisted he not call her, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t call him.If he wanted to play this game, she was willing to join in.She did love her games.

It was almost as if it was meant to torment him.

Travis wondered if this is what it felt like for Betsy when he tried to reach her after the porn date.Poor Betsy.Even if she did wrong him.

Hopefully she had received his Valentine’s card by now.

Travis gripped the phone’s handle, lightly putting it up to his ear.He heard a scratchy harmonica playing what sounded like “American Woman.”It was ironic, because when Travis heard that song for the first time in his cab, it reminded him of how he felt about Betsy—who he was just thinking about.

“You should pick up an instrument sometime; it can strengthen your brain’s dual hemispheres.Be careful out there, friend.”

Travis couldn’t decide if it was funny or creepy, but without a care managed to fall asleep for another hour nevertheless.She never did call him again, nor did he to her.

The days still went on.The days still never ended.Routines became his safety net, and money materials of exchange that meant little but an ongoing process.He had at least enough by now to find a bigger, suitable home.Home—what a strange word.Even when reading the dictionary’s definition of it over and over with his burning, overstrained eyes, the meaning was lost on him!

The market was competitive, and in New York City, everything seemed to be about 5x as more expensive than the majority of the country.It stressed him out only thinking about it, but this was yet another experience in “normal life” he had to learn.It would have to be close to his access routes for driving, but an apartment with more flair, more size.This was going to be difficult—probably headache-inducing.

It was all putting strain on Travis.He was more than happy to take an early night, retiring hours before he did on a typical night.He was probably being lazy…or he simply didn’t care.Either way, he was spending his time alone in the place where alone is amplified.

Playing a crossword puzzle on his bed, he heard what may be footsteps outside.He perked up, listening.They got closer.So did he—to the door.

Christina carried a few objects in her arms.She was careful not to drop them, but also careful not to disturb others in the complex this late at night.She had a few books, with a plate and cover sitting on top of the books.

She found Travis’s door.Putting her things on the floor, she rapped it with her knuckles.There was no response, so she tried again.Suddenly, she heard something click—it sounded like a gun.

Christina quickly stepped away from the door.She swallowed hard.

Shifting her feet forward and smacking her lips, she barely raised her voice: “…Travis?”

There was still silence.

“Please, Travis—come on.I thought we were on good terms now.Look, just, give me one more chance and hear me out.I’ll explain everything, I swear it on Lenin’s mummy.I’d rather…rather be your friend again than your enemy again.Please?”

Silence.

“Fine, then.I’ll leave what I brought you, which includes some grub, right here…come and get it when you want.”

She walked a little away, and then waited patiently.

Over five minutes later, a chain jingled and objects were removed from the lock on the other side of the door.Christina smirked.

Travis looked out at the books and food, and then veered his one eye toward the stairs.“Well…come on in.”

As soon as she entered the door, Travis put a handgun to her back, causing her to automatically put her hands up.She was inched inside.Travis re-locked the door with his free hand.“It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend,” she joked with unease as the gun’s barrel still dug in her back.Travis revealed that it was unloaded.

“Safety first.It’s the golden rule, you know.Something like that.” Travis looked through the books, which were all English literature, and then the plate.It was some kind of Mexican dish, like tacos, but fatter.

Christina immediately noticed how empty the apartment now looked, and how boxes crowded it.It was cramped before, too.“Gosh.This changed since the last time I was here.”

“I’ve taken your advice, and I’m gonna go ahead and move.Don’t know where yet.”

“Look how small it is…I can see why you started to lose some of your marbles.Cabin fever is a bitch.”

“Indeed it is.It’s been my living space since forever, though.I gotta let go.”

Christina pointed to the plate: “Those are fajitas, practically my favorite all-time food.It’s essentially beef and peppers in a tortilla.I didn’t make you a cheesecake like I said I would, but I thought this should do.”

She was expecting to hear a “thank you,” but Travis’s eyes went dark.It was a bit spooky.

“I wish you’d stay here for a little while.We should…talk,” he said.

“I don’t know, I was planning on a good long night of analyzing the abstract, upholstering, and regretting my existence.We can talk, though.I’ll bounce when we’re done.”

They apparently entered another staring contest.This time around, Christina folded first and glimpsed to the window—completely covered and shuttered down—adding to the claustrophobia.

“Did you get taller? Because you look taller to me,” Travis said.

Christina sighed.“What’s your problem…”

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked.

“Lie? When did I lie? Remind me.”

“When I took you to that bar last fall, you told me you had been traumatized from your friend having been scalped from a car engine you both were testing on.I asked you if that had anything to do with your professor suing you, and you told me no.You lied.”

She hadn’t even remembered that, but of _course_ he did.Travis scanned her again as a born human lie-detector.He could study people simply by looking at them, which was one of the big reasons he liked to watch his passengers in the driver’s mirror.

“W-why does it matter?” Christina stuttered.“That was months ago!”

“It matters because I wanted so bad to trust you, and for you to trust me.I guess we’ve both broken each other’s trust.”

“After you took me to see a man you nearly beat to death? No surprise there.”

“He did..” Travis snickered, “…he did look kinda funny though, you have to admit…you shoulda seen him crying…oh man.”

“Is he even _living_?”

“I don’t know.I haven’t checked on him in a few days.”

Christina looked at him with disbelief.

“I kept him alive as long as I could.It tuckered me out.He couldn’t even confess to me, the sick bastard.Back to what I was saying—you lied straight to my face.I believed you, too.No wonder you told me you don’t feel like you belong here, you probably belong better back in jail.”

“I’m a good liar.”Christina had ooze in that sentence.“It doesn’t matter anymore.You’ve read about…the _incident_.You’re perfectly aware of everything, and so am I.It’s time to move on,” she gestured to the moving boxes as she said it.

“I did read it, but you gotta understand that reading about something vulgar like that, especially sexual, you can’t help but wonder…”

Travis thought that Christina would stay quiet, and allow him to take control of this situation.

But she came out defending herself in full force.

“Bull. Shit. All it is. One hundred fucking percent…and don’t you forget it.”

Travis nodded.“I understand. I understand completely.”Christina tried to grab a fajita and was stopped again by Travis: “What I _don’t_ understand is how messed up a broad has to be to do that to another woman.”

Christina was fed up, so she decided to aim for where it hurt.“If anyone’s dangerous and predatory, it’s cabbies.It’s statically proven.Probably being poor service workers and all.”

“Tell me how it’s been proven.I’ve never heard of that crap.”

“Taxi drivers are at risk of robbing and assault, we know that.However, I have _specifically_ read that the passengers are the most at risk, since the drivers can take them anywhere they want without a qualm. _Women_ are most at risk, obviously.You didn’t hear about the driver that kidnapped and raped that woman in Brooklyn? What about the dismembered woman in Miami? What about the sodomized and stabbed man in San Francisco? What about… _just a block away_ …no?”

Travis smiled.“There are more criminals than cabbies.That’s all I can say.”

“The cabbies are probably worse…”

“I’d still like to hear the actual names in these cases, and those numbers you pulled out of thin air.”

“Why? These are human beings, Travis.Who cares about numbers?”

He couldn’t tell if she was trying to spin his own accusations on her against him, or if she legitimately believed it, but he was becoming offended.“You should all be grateful to service workers, especially drivers.There’s some bad ones of us, but there’s a lot more good. I guess we can’t even avoid the snakes in the grass…and that’s what you are: a snake.I look forward to the day your own tries to strangle you.Keeping them in that place…it’s animal abuse, I’m sure.”

Now Christina was offended.“Oh no, heeere we go.All aboard Travis’s Traveling Train of Condemnation! I’m not a sexual predator, I _did_ come over to make mends with you, and I _refuse_ any insult or ‘lesser-than’ group you shuffle me in, like you do to everyone in this damn city.And don’t you dare accuse me of abusing my animals.”

“Did I make you mad? Geez, I’m sorry.I’ll get you a tissue, hold on.”

“I’m not mad…not mad at all.I’m not whatever _you_ say I am, is what I’m trying to get through to you. Now, I-”

“That doesn’t mean though that-”

“Excuse me, Trav, I’m talking at the moment.Let me speak-”

“This is my apartm-”

“No no.I have the floor.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.I know you’re the king of this kingdom and I’m trying to shut you up, but um…I need to say this.I understand you have this…’vendetta’ against women, or whatever, and I completely get it.But I would never, ever harm anyone like that…and I don’t appreciate you trying to project your own insecurities onto me.”

“I never said I had anything against women.I don’t know where you got that from.You’re the only violent oppressor I can see…” he stuck his finger in her face again.“The poor women stuck with you.”

“Oh, I can tell.I am, for some reason, your constant target while you defend these jackass taxi drivers to the death.”

“Christina, that’s completely untrue.I target _everyone_ equally.And it’s not ‘constant’; it’s been one damn time.”

“More than one.”

“Okay, two maybe.Need to thicken up your skin, still.”

“You need to let me be happy, which I only feel every once in a blue moon.There’s no need to bring someone down like this, or feel your own h-happiness from doing…such.Some life you have.”

She didn’t have any more comebacks, just an embarrassed shrug and a longing glance to the fajitas.

“Do you want to tell me exactly why cabbies are the worst of the worst out there?”

“Yes I do.People stuck in a car all day long, with smarmy individuals behind them all day long, are going to be some bitter model citizens.Instead of getting help, they pull it inward, implode, and lash out.Thus, the victims pile up.For me, if I enter a brown man’s cab, he curses me for looking like somebody who’d get whipped in the streets in his country.In an Asian man’s cab, I’d be looked down on even more.In a black man’s cab, once it’s discovered I’m from Dixie I’ll probably get kicked out.The Puerto Rican drivers wouldn’t even talk to me.And the white drivers? They’re the coldest; they would be the first to call me dyke and come to some fucked up thoughts.The gay drivers would think I’m a twink, the atheist drivers would debate me, and the Christians would call me out.Notice all the differences…and the one thing in common.

But I have it easy! Most women have to fear everything from being hit on to attacked, as do the more…effeminate men.Frankly, I don’t see why anyone would put up with that, even for a ride.I feel that cabbies best shape up before they go out of business, and we have a bunch of these twisted men out on the streets.Stalking the night.They’re often dirty and disrespectful, which is a shining example of people in that position and class.”

Travis asked, “Soo, that’s why you’ve never ridden in a cab until I took you?”

“No…I just don’t like public transportation.” Christina grinned.She was probably stringing him along the entire time, he supposed.

“I hold on to what I said, that cab drivers are necessary, especially in New York,” he asserted.

“They pretty much are.Though what I mean is that it can be hard to trust some…”

While Christina had her eyes wander during her whole phony rant, she now looked Travis straight in the eye.“…who could hurt you.”

“I think I ruffled your feathers…” Travis started.

“I wonder why that is.”

“…so maybe I shouldn’t have brought anything up.”

“It seems more like you brought it up so you could corner me.Take a gander at how I am under pressure.”

Because the two were both strongly opinionated, their clashing over and over was inevitable.The secrecy and shady pasts were only making the situation worse.

“As if you would know what it’s like to be under pressure…and I mean real pressure.When it comes to matters of life and death.Or to face the rejection of not only society, but the people you love.Every. Single. Day.Yeah, I doubt it.It’s a tough fucking sea out there.”

“ _You_ should have learned by now that I am going to combat with full assault anything that comes out of your little one-dimensional Muppet mouth,” Christina said, making her hands talk like a hand-puppet.

Travis chortled.“I mean, you started it.”

“No, you started it.But I _will_ finish it, Dickle.”

He couldn’t help but laugh again.“Alright, alright.Calm the fuck down.”

While Travis and Christina were going back-and-forth, it was becoming evidently clear that both had the beaten, possibly dead man slip out of their minds.In fact, as much as Christina was trying to seem virtuous, she didn’t do much about it.In fact, it came across that she was indeed more concerned about winning than empathy for an abuser.This was perfectly understandable, but a bit hypocritical on her part, Travis would later conclude.

She finally tried to explain: “One of my college professors, Ken Rawlings, was actually a family friend and taught me in my adolescence at this engineering training school thing.He treated me unfairly and critiqued every little thing I did. 

The professor had a daughter named Julianne, a friend of mine along with RJ Oatley.She was a daddy’s girl who I still _fully_ believe stole my thesis idea.

We were going to present a dual final project: test an uncovered, newer model engine together, where I was the master and she was basically the apprentice.I tweaked the engine so that it would give a little prick, or shock.To teach her a lesson.

Unknown to me, the engine had been reshaped that morning by someone else.She made the wrong move.It ripped her hair off of her head while I watched.I tried to pull her out, but it was too late.Needless to say, I, I did not pass.

It wasn’t long before I was out of nowhere being called to court for ‘sexual assault.’ I was too confused to strike back.The thing was, Julianne liked girls too, but she hid it from most everyone, thinking it was ‘wrong.’ I think she had a thing for both me and RJ.

They told my parents…not me.I had never been so ashamed and humiliated and _betrayed_ in my entire life.Certain relatives and fellow students stopped talking to me.What I dealt with regarding lawyers and paperwork was enough to make me want to drive nails into my head.Right before I was taken in, a gang of men came out of a bar and beat me bloody, defending Julianne’s ‘honor’ from a homo ‘beast’…me.

It makes more sense now.My mindset was different, my ideas were different, I had a history of both aggressive behavior and breaking and entering at 13.Most importantly, it was hard for me to feel, to react.No one’s more suitable to be the villain than the girl who can’t _feel_.I really was the perfect target for the perfect setup.Funny.

For a time, I considered myself a failure.I always found it interesting how all these terms we use—failure, tension, stress, pressure, depression—are all terms we physics and engineering pupils use.It’s not human-related.I thought if I failed, I’d fall apart.But I’m not a car.I’m not going to get parts taken off for failing.How did I get here then, and not have a total breakdown? Because, huh…I almost did. 

What kept me going was the same ambition I was born with.Tough seas, am I right?”

Travis did not say anything.

“You know, I bet you would’ve liked RJ.” Christina then said.“I searched for viable connections, but my searches came back unfruitful—and romance wasn’t for me.RJ though, he was the man.I can’t even explain it well, really…”

 _Thank God for that_ , Travis thought, because her last speeches sounded almost rehearsed.

“..but we just…knew each other, and we were on the same wavelength.We were like a squeaky door and WD-40.We fit even as somewhat opposites…I guess we had enough in common to make up for it, and I tucked away my vices for a sweet minute to allow someone in, and see me as how I am.Mostly, at least.”

“So it’s a pity he turned out the way he did…” she said that with bitterness and a curled lip, like she was tasting something bad.

“But weirdly enough, I almost wish I was actually heartbroken over it.Just to say I was.”

“I don’t think you’d want that at all, sorry,” Travis said.

“When you run into him in the pits of hell, be sure to tell him that I still thought about him…that lovely person.Mopey, but in sort of a hot way,” Christina looked off dreamily.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” Travis joked.“I’m sure I’ll be spared from some pit now that I’ve been clean from poisonous head drugs this long.I haven’t seen Dr. Vickers in…man, a long time.”

“And hopefully I’ll be spared too, because,” Christina added, “I was _Exonerated from All Charges_.And Julianne Rawlings was _Fired and ‘Shamed’ for Revealed False Accusations_.”Christina was quoting the last news titles in her legal papers.It made it seem like a happier ending of sorts.Although the damage had already been done.

That made Travis think about something quite different: “You can learn a lot about a person by the first newspaper title that comes to their mind.”

“Hitler invades Norway and Denmark,” Christina immediately quipped.

“Thanks for providing that…perfect example.”

Travis paused before asking, suggesting a risky question.“Are you a lesbian or not?”

“I’m straight.”

Travis appeared to have a hard time believing that.He shook his head a little.

“I’m obviously straight.A minute ago I was pouring out my affection for a male.”

“I dunno, you might be one of those half and half people.I once saw a crack whore as well as a guy passenger who enjoyed both.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think so.I’m pretty confident that I’m entirely straight.I’m not too into sex either…not that I don’t want it, but it’s not super important or enticing to me.Another reason why my charges make hardly any sense.”

Travis was even more confused.Maybe it was because of how badly he himself was sexually frustrated, but who would outright _always_ reject sex?He understood not putting it before everything else, it could be dangerous and he didn’t either, but what straight woman as she claimed to be would brush off that opportunity?

“In that case, it can be said then that none of this happened to involve, um, _inappropriate_ teacher-student relations with the professor?”

“No!” Christina was grossed out.

“I’m just checkin.”

“I came for a degree.I worked my ass off trying to earn it before it sapped all my energy and focus.That was what I came for and it’s all I did.To learn.”

“But you weren’t learning _everything_ …” said a suggestive taxi driver.

Christina blushed hard, tightened her lips, and scowled.

“Yep.A virgin.” 

She crossed her arms, and he continued, “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with staying pure.I respect it, even encourage it, actually.You should see what these fucking animals do in the backseat…”

“How did you make this about my sex life? Is there some lesbian fantasy of yours lurking behind some of this?”

“Sorry if I crossed a line…” though Travis still had a perverted expression, in a very similar way to how he reacted when being called out for “breaking chops” to the dispatcher when he first started his job.He, after all, was once a porn addict.

“Because if so,” she went on, “go ahead and jump off a cliff for me.”

“Watch it,” Travis warned.It wasn’t long before he made it worse: “You’re straight, a virgin…what about a hermaphrodite?”

“Okay,” Christina put her hands up.“I’m officially uncomfortable.”

“You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable.I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not hiding a dong, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t think so…I was teasing ya, silly,”After a few awkward minutes, Travis remembered there was food.

“Why don’t we eat these.They gotta be cold, and we shouldn’t waste nothin.”

She wholeheartedly agreed.She had put effort into those.

Travis heated them back up in a pan, putting a little extra salt and cayenne pepper.He pulled up his safe for a temporary table, then took out a folding chair and stool.Christina was struggling trying to open the folding chair, so he had to inform her how to do it.It was old, like most of his things.

They sat down, with their knees not far from their chests.Travis was unused to this kind of food, though was willing to try.“Oh damn.This is good.”

“Right? I put jalapeños on there, if you feel a hotness.I tend to put jalapeños on everything.” 

Travis coughed once and had some milk, but otherwise enjoyed it without a problem.

Christina finished hers fast after being hungry for so long.

They started to talk again. It was just a chatty kind of evening.

“I’m uh, I’m sorry if I…bothered you, but…you did rip into me as soon I stepped in the door.I thought we came to an agreement after our last phone call…I was wrong.”

Travis brushed it off.“I wouldn’t think too hard on it.”

“I can’t even talk to you when you’re emotional like that.I can’t, I can’t talk to you.It’s literally impossible to have a rational conversation with someone that passionate without logic.When you take a breath, calm down, then maybe we can discuss like adults.And that doesn’t just go for you, but I know so many others that have acted in this way.People take things far too personally—they _have_ to make it personal.That’s why they attack themselves…and therefore self-destruct.”

“I wasn’t emotional; I wanted to hear what you had to say for yourself, in your own words.”

“Well, I said it. I think we’ve fought enough.”

“Agreed.”

Luckily, it would be their last real conflict.Misunderstandings were finally being washed away, and something new lay ahead. 

“I’ve been liking the books you’ve been sending,” said Travis.

“I’m glad…I tried to pick ones I thought you might like.I used my sixth sense to guide me on that complicated mission.”

“It’s nice to have someone think of you.Sometimes I think I’m too in the background to have someone think of me.Or I’m in front, but instead too strange.”Travis thought deeply.“I’m not _physically_ strange.”

“It’s weird…I guess I’m normal height, I should feel good about that.”

“Yes you should,” said Christina.

“But, it’s like, my whole life I’ve only had people look down on me.At least, that’s what it feels like.Like I’m something to be stepped on.I’m at a lower level than they are and so will be treated as such.I have to make up for it by proving myself—be it longer than usual work hours or saving a child prostitute.”

“What about your family?”

“I was just…alone.No siblings, hardly any friends, surrounded by judgmental church people.My uncle and aunt didn’t really care, my grandfather tried to, but, ya know.Even the corn stalks made me feel lonely.But my dad…my dad was kind of like me.Quiet but knew he had to do what he had to do when the time was right.Stubborn as shit…but had a sense of right and wrong…or so he thought.

That’s why I wish he was here.I’d love to ask him how he thought when he felt drowned out, or had a duty to others.How did he feel when he first moved to my birthplace from Detroit? How did he feel when he was chosen for engineering military model planes in World War fucking Two? How did he feel when he was fired? Sometimes I want to ask.He does carry my genes.

My mother was just, a mother, I guess.She took care of me when she could.”

Christina was quiet.

“I know you’ve been through your own slog, but don’t ever feel unlucky.You’re lucky as hell.You were born into a family of normal, loving people—not abusers or pedophiles or junkies.From what I can tell, your mother outshines my mother, at least.”

She spoke up: “I kind of know what you mean.I admit it, sometimes I feel useless, especially when I’m in a particularly bad bout of depression.As though I’ve failed every single person in my life…maybe I have, I don’t know.I certainly can feel that way.I have to ask myself, why am I even alive? Why am I this way, why do I prefer my den of discomfort more than improving my life?

But every time I feel that way, I also have to remind myself that I was put on this planet for a damn reason.I’ve known since I was tiny that I would lead, and I would make my mark somehow, someway.There’s this big unknown waiting for me with my name on it out there in the future, and this past I have—to this very day actually, is just the testing grounds for it…that will pass in a blur.

I’ve had people wonder about me, talk about me behind my back: why does she not have friends? Why does she have issues driving? Why does she behave in odd behaviors? Why does she neglect or postpone easy adult responsibilities? Why does she settle for a dirty, low-paying job? Why does she dress like a man? To them, I probably do look useless.I look entitled, weak, clueless, and lazy.But they wouldn’t understand unless they knew me and my past that I’ve actually already won 50 victories, and conquering general adulthood is just one more.I almost see myself as a weathered veteran with little medals on my uniform…”

“I know actual veterans that would beg to differ.”

“Oh shove it.You know what I mean.”She wiped her mouth with her wrist.“Life is an obstacle course.I may win and lose some battles, but by God I _will_ win the war.I can’t guarantee I’ll feel that way tomorrow, but…I will win it.Watch and see.”

“See, this is why, no matter what I do, I can’t help but be easy to forgive and accept you.Yeah, you could very well be lying to me, but…what you just said to me, I understand.I know exactly what you’re talking about.Because I’ve been there, hell, I’m still there.Sure I see your awful moments, I know what people say about you, like Wizard saying you have the ‘personality of a moldy fridge’-"

“Wow, I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I mean, he _may not_ be wrong…I would’ve definitely agreed with him at first; but Christina, I see a fire in you.A fire that won’t be smothered easily.

And that’s why I like you.” He poked her in the chest, his finger staying in place.

Christina batted off the finger.

“You have to remember to keep it pure, like I’m trying to keep mine.Be confident.Honestly. you’re doing a lot better than me in that department,” Travis went on to say.“As for me…I don’t know.I’ve managed to be a hero, which I always kinda wanted…but I know it’s not my true place.When will this all finally drop and crash?I’m just waiting for the day everyone stops and says, ‘Look, the fuck’s he doing here?’ I’m waiting for my time of blending in to be up, and everyone notices.

All I want is to be right.It’s honestly what I live for man.I love the truth and I long to just, just be right.I think it’s why I have to seek out everything, even the things I hate.It’s why I take action, why I think out theories and doomsday scenarios, and why I avoid or pursue only certain people.”

“What have other cats said after you told them?”

“I haven’t really told anyone about that; not my parents, Betsy, Iris, or even Wizard.I suppose now I’ve only told you.”

Christina had to hide the pleasure and satisfaction on her face.

“I learned to not always rattle off to my friends.It would often result in a _mess_.” Though she was confessing here and now: “I don’t know if I even want friends.I have these…weird issues with trust and abandonment, I guess because of my dad leaving, and, well the _incident_ , and now…now I just expect every relationship to have a time-limit warranty until they decide I’m not worth it anymore… _I_ at least try to stick with people.That’s what my ex Jack said, that I’m loyal.You know, like a golden retriever.

I do struggle with guilt, when I’m weak.If I feel enough guilt over whatever hit me, it incapacitates my rational thinking at times.”

“Inca-what?”

“Incapacitates, when something is impaired.”

“I have no desire whatsoever to prove myself with how many weights I lift, or if I can climb to the top of a mountain or not—which I actually did want to once, in the Appalachians.But that all seems stupid to me.I want to prove what I can do through what I think, what I read, what I say, and what I _create_.” She had sudden inspiration with her carvings.

Travis, meanwhile, had sudden anger with professor and daughter.“This Rawlings guy, where does he live now?”

“Why, you gonna hunt him down?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Well try not to, because I have a reputation to uh, to protect.Anyways though, he lives somewhere in New Hampshire.”She wasn’t specific, but she hinted at it to Travis.He grabbed his plate. 

“That did hit the spot.I think I was about to digest my organs.”

“I think, if you’re that starved, the body _will_ eat itself.I feel like I heard that somewhere.”

“Well organ digestion has been _stopped_.”

“I wish the talking heads could be as easily stopped.Did you hear about Palantine? There are rumors that he’s been involved in illegal funding….and then there’s the mayor…”

“I wish they'd all hang.Palantine, Goodwin, Richmond, the mayor, all of them.If they are found with treason and abuse they need to be executed.It’s part of our justice system, you know.Get rid of every last roach that scrambles when the light shines on em until we’re cleaner.”

Christina didn’t know how to respond, so she chose to lightly munch on the last strip of tortilla.

After the long pause, Travis cleared his throat: “Alright.” He slapped crumbs off his hands. 

“Um, well, thanks for eating with me, uh, again.” Christina stumbled off the chair that caught a bit of her shirt.

“Thanks for bringing it over.”

“It’s all good.”

“You bring any Chick-O-Sticks?” He asked.

“Nope, just fajitas.And books.We could always read or study, and discuss them together…I could be your ol’ buddy ol’ pal.”

“That’s, uh, sweet of you.”“Sweet” was not usually a word associated with Christina.

She shrugged.“As long as we’re not at the other’s throat, I like hanging out with you.”

Travis was distracted once more by his own fire.“Shit, I’m sorry.I always get worked up talking about this kinda stuff.I wanna fight. I need somethin’ to kill.”

“This is why I’m getting bored of being a taxi driver.Don’t get me wrong, I like my job, I’m _one_ with my job by now, but I’m not doing anything impressive by driving.I’m not marching out with cannons with driving.I need something to fight and to shed my own blood for.”

“Ah,” said a shifty-eyed Christina.

“And these square people want to tell me what to do and how to do it.Hmph.I’m not like you, and thank God I’m not!I’m built for somethin’ else, w-what you’re not ready for…trust me I get tired as you do workin’ in your little store when I gotta say this and that to every dripping person that steps into my cab day after fucking day.‘Good day, good morning, good evening, you’re welcome, thank you,’ on and on.Most don’t even deserve it!

Night after night, morning after morning…I work a lot longer than the typical 9 to 5, and I suppose I like it most of the time.I make money until I can’t, in which if something fails I find another thing to do to make money at and be good at.I’m like one of those cats, ya know…I always land on my feet.

But yeah, I guess right now I’m still a humble cabbie, insignificant to most. I’m just their servant driver, taking them where they want to be.But where do _I_ want to be? Not here.Not for the rest of my short life.I’m dreadin’ the day when my age creeps up on me, and I have nowhere to go and nothing to do.I’m stuck because my life has ‘ended’ even though I’m still alive.I gotta live and I gotta die the way I want to, even though I know what I _want_ isn’t priority.I guess it’s whatever God wants and plans. Still…well, you get it.”

She stared at him.He clearly was the one now who needed to let out steam.

“So I suppose I’ll keep waiting until it’s my chosen time to destroy humanism and bring some sin to heel.”

“Oh, you read the book on humanism I lent you.”

“Actually, I already knew about it, but thanks anyway.This is what happens when you demoralize humanity.People act like dogs, and us good souls have to suffer for it.But I’m not going to just stand by and watch like a pussy…I can’t, it’s not in my nature.I know I’ve only been talking about fighting but I want to help others too.I don’t believe we’re overpopulated either, and we should be havin’ families to raise with good morals, but that’s another topic.”

“Love for humanity has been going on since the Renaissance.”

“Huh, love.It means something different nowadays, I would assume.It’s ‘all about love,’ they like to say.So because someone is being nice to you, it’s love? How can you tell the difference between love and being used?Why should love and lust be more important than responsibility? So if everything is love, if the whole purpose of our existence in the universe is love, that decides the rest? Pure love conquers all shit? Makes me want to fucking vomit.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d get sick of any more of my rambling.”

“Too late for that!”

“Heh-heh, right.Speaking of significance—”

“I wasn’t talking about significance.”

“Nope, but I was, a moment ago.Going back to significance, it’s annoying when I get guys tell me how nice it would be to move to the country, get a big house, remodel it, and take care of their yard.It’s apparently fulfilling, or they tell me it makes them feel good about themselves.Sure, I guess if you have the actual time.It sounds tiring to me.I honestly think it’s because they don’t have anything satisfying in their lives, relationships, or work, so they have to feel _significant_ for doing that drivel.

Then these people, these unsatisfied people, they feel the need to tell me how I myself can feel significant.Please.I BREATHE significance.”

Christina lost it.She had to cover her mouth to stop her snort-laugh.That in turn caused Travis to smile as well.“I know it sounds arrogant but that came from the heart right there,” he said with more softness now.

“I can tell.” He had jumped from several various moods within hours.However, at least now it was much less tense.They were enjoying the other’s presence again.

“Have we solved the problems of the world yet?” Travis wondered.

“God, if only.”She turned to him: “Have you ever talked to anyone about your time in the war? Or is that off limits?”

“It’s not a subject I like to bring up, that’s for sure.It’s kinda this unspoken code between us former soldiers not to reveal anything.I’m sure none of this new generation would understand besides.Except for throwing bottles at us.”

For the first time, Christina seemed genuinely sad for Travis.“Try to tell me,” she said.

“No thanks.”

“I won't tell a soul.I’m interested, and if anything, I almost wish I had that _grandeur_ of a soldier.”

“ _Why??_ ”

“Why? You spent the year 1973 in your last leg of the military, your mind broken until all you know and understand is how to do your job.I spent that year in jail, my mind broken and _left_ splintered…nothing to do and nowhere to go.Your legacy is that of a hero.Mine is that of a thug.I’d say you may have actually gotten the better deal in the long run.”

Travis had never even considered that viewpoint.“Sit down over there.”She perched on a large box at the side of the room.He sat against the iron of his bed frame.

“That’s not a very comfy spot,” Christina noticed.

Travis made his body (especially his back) look contorted and his face in vague pain.“No,” he groaned, “I’m fine.”That gave his cohort a small laugh.

Travis relaxed to fold his arms over his legs.“I knew what was going on in Vietnam and with France, and I went.Simple as that.”

“But you were drafted, right? I mean, the whole let’s go groove to Vietnam decision wasn’t a premeditated act?”

“Ehh, no—on drafting that is.I’m sure most guys were drafted, but this was my choice alone.I actually thought the war was planned, for the purpose of destroying American innocence.But I was young, stupid, and restless with a death wish.I hated myself yet I wanted a purpose.So it fit me to serve and go on to my grave, ya know.

We had a, a sizable amount of men at the base I was first stationed.It was hard and demanding, but I got through it, because I was clean, quiet, and I obeyed.Then again, I had this easy desk job in the first months.Combat training also went relatively well.My biggest beef was actually how hot and humid it was.I’m used to vast lands of wind and snow.

I remember on our first real mission, I was in a tizzy.I had no idea what I was doing, just that I had a job to do.As Marines, we were kind of like backup.We were over this booby-trapped camp.We had to, we had to run to confiscate this building with resources and possible enemies inside.Those brave boys with me…they were ready. Me? Not so much.I couldn’t be scared though.They had surrounded one of our groups, firing with all they had. 

You could smell the lingering recent use of chemicals in the air, and the sounds of helicopters somewhere away, nowhere to see us.One of our guys, Nathan Hall, was talking to our commander through a radio, saying one of our ammo supplies had been stolen, and we were taking it back from an underground bunker.I saw a few more of our men go down, but lots more of the enemy fall.I was killin myself because I felt like I wasn’t doin nearly enough.Not even close.I was a coward…and I had a hard time following orders.I was slow, and stubborn….because I wasn’t in my right mind, as usual, I had comrades fall in front of me, and I just stood there like a dumb ox. 

And then Nathan…” Travis suddenly had a wetness in his eyes.“…ahem, Nathan he uh, he grabbed me and said ‘You’re doing your best.’ I said to him, ‘No man.I’m not.I don’t do great things,’ and he said, ‘Then one day I expect to hear you will.’He had utmost faith in me.The last thing I saw was his smile…” Travis’s voice went lower, and slightly shook.“…and we took out some Commies and got what we needed.Nathan…Nathan was shot in the head.”Travis sniffed and blinked his eyes, but didn’t show any more emotion beyond that.

Christina looked at her feet.

“Then it was that and some more for a few more years.Not everything was exciting gunfire, but I didn’t stay at a desk the whole time either.If I say anymore, I’d be breaking a promise.”Christina liked that Travis did at least stick to principle.“I like to think I'm protecting other vets too by keeping it between us.I try to protect my fellow man—I do a swell job of it.”

“Until they die.”Christina’s simple sentence was said so coldly it made the temperature of the room lower than it already was.Again, it was only a straightforward sentence without a deep meaning, but somehow, to Travis, it came off as insensitive and even a bit mocking.It was almost borderline sociopathic in its inflection.He hoped that wasn’t the case, and she was just being blunt and naive.

He knew she wasn’t lying about her legal case.He thought she was initially, but once she spoke with confidence and he saw the glean in her eyes…she had to be telling the truth.She had nothing else to lose.

She could be telling one lie, or twisting one thing or another, but he was pretty assured.She might have her own problems as anyone does, but nothing _that_ bad—she had a heart. Especially as her mother was concerned, which seemed to upset her far more than anything else.He could tell when a passenger was lying by looking into the windows of their souls—their eyes.He could identify the scum through a certain trait he saw flickering, rotting, _familiar_ there.It would make him squirm.

So that’s how he knew she wasn’t so corrupted that she was beyond saving: he did not recognize himself in the reflection of her soul.

“That really hurts my heart knowing that happened to you, all of you.That war was…I know I’ll never completely understand…but I am trying to.”Christina soon made up for the last thing she said; this time she sounded caring in her own way, and overwhelmed by the sheer scope of that situation.

“I appreciate you saying that.When you’ve been traumatized, there’s a wire that’s been snapped up there.You never can tell what’s going to remind you a little too much and spark it again.It’s like everything is intensified because of your perspective and, and the way you look at things…you know, your general outlook.I mean, it’s hard to explain…and it’s a bit hard to talk about.I’m just trying to rewire myself right now, so I can return to functioning normally and getting the fuck on with my life.

Something’s gonna go off with me one day, and I’m going to change.If you’re anything like me, it’ll happen to you too….are you going to join me or not?”

She looked up: “Join you on what?”

“My plan.I have a world-sized plan, and I need someone’s help along the way.All of this talkin, all of the meetin, it has to be leading to this.I wanna construct a new bridge…and a business of my own.”

“W-what would I have to do…precisely?”

“For right now, all you have to do is go with me tomorrow to the detectives to defend me against the disappearance of one of theirs, and make a good case in my favor.”

Christina was not too sure about that. 

“Do you know about the wheat and the tares?”

She shook her head.

“Ah, finally I know and you don’t.It’s one of Jesus’s parables, concerning the chosen ones, the wheat, and the dark ones, the tares.Close in resemblance, they grow next to each other until the tares are taken out for the sake of the full-grown wheat. ‘Gather the wheat into my barn,’ from the book of Matthew.I had to memorize the Bible from a young age, that’s what you’re hearing, but I always took the parable to heart and mind.Yeah, everything is beautiful when seen together, no obvious difference, but you have to eliminate the fake ones.What’s trying to grow over the hope of salvation.I might try to find and pull out the tares.Then, in Calvinism, you have the doctrine of Predestination and the Elect.I like to think I’m one of the Elect, but maybe I’m not.I just know I have to do something, but I can’t do it completely alone.I need my _own_ elected.I think you would be a good start.”

Christina nodded, like these were more foreign concepts to her, but she understood the points he was making…or at least to feed into his far off hopes and be his “Yes-Man.”

“You know what, you could actually benefit from my _impeccable_ persuasive skills.I don’t think you’d mix well with prison…I of all people should know.”

“Exactly.Besides…what am I supposed to do, leave you like this? In _this_ limbo state? I couldn’t do it.I don’t trust nobody, and you may end up like me.I feel like you need to be with me. 

I swore myself to be alone in everything I did for the longest time, but..I’m not sure I want that right now—I want you to be with me tomorrow, and maybe more times after that.I’ve finally, _finally_ come to realize that you can’t do all this on your own, especially with what I’m planning.I’ve known you long enough to know how you are, and….well, It just seems natural to have you with me.”

“Maybe…maybe you’re right for me in this time, and I am for you.You never know.”

“In that case, you should become more aware of who I’m targeting and why I’m targeting them, without the scorn.”

“Oi! I ain’t keep up wit all uh kiddy fiddlers you kill, gov’nuh!”

“This is serious, Christina.I’m in some deep shit.”

“I’m not sure what I can do for you that would even help.”

“You can help by helping me tomorrow.And trusting me.”

“Do you still have your job?” She asked, “Every time I see you, you’re not working.You’re a taxi driver, but I don’t see much taxi driving.I hope you’re not neglecting my car, sorry, _your_ car.”

“I’ve been a little distracted lately…I’ve grabbed a hold of some crooks, as you saw, and they just happened to have connections.In fact, this might be the last time you see me.I’ll be in a cell or the noose soon, I figure it.That’s why I need your help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You only have several more hours to.This reminds me of a recon assignment I had with another Marine, Gordon.We had to go dangerously close to a North range.I was snooping around when I see a homeless man with a newspaper.I had walked past him several times, until I recognized him.I was amazed: Well isn’t that Gordon! I thought, it is!That’s that motherfucker!!!”

“Recon? If you were a spy then you were living out the fantasies of every kid, man!”

Travis shrugged it off.Christina had the inkling that he was stretching the truth…quite a bit.Regardless, she buttered him up with praise.

“I have to admit…you’re brave.That’s definite courage.”Travis appeared to be possibly pleased that she was impressed.“Oh, it’s nothing.I suppose I'm certainly courageous compared to the wusses who had to choose between the draft and teaching college…they chose college.They have control of it now.I hope I misunderstand them and there’s no Marxist indoctrination coming.I do hope.”

“Oh and after my intended escape tomorrow, I’ll start planning more on my new house and its layout and furniture.I was looking at a living room set the other day.I saw this ugly, _retro_ 50s furniture set with ‘gold trimmm.’” He said gold trim with a bit of a lisp.“And _Keira_ , whoever names their kid that, said it was just adorable and I should buy it before she did.I didn’t.”

“Fascinating story.”

“Even the littlest of stories can be fascinating.Others make no sense, like the person in the Midwest who told me about Bigfoot.Same person who told me to stay away from open water, because someone there stepped in and was killed by a 100 water moccasins.” Travis made a chopping motion with his hand:“Every…single…state…or place I drive to, I hear about that bogus story.The said bitten person changes in every tale.”

“Ha, my Southern grandpa told me that.It _is_ true. It has enough verified evidence.”

Travis shrugged and crossed his arms.Christina gathered her plate and books to get ready to leave.Travis looked at the iron-gated window.“You into astronomy? I was looking out the window earlier and I saw some winter constellations, and Mercury.”

“I am.” Travis somehow had a feeling.“Really? Mercury? Too bad it wasn’t Saturn.Now that’s a cool planet.”

“I think we’ve probably woken up all my neighbors.” Christina glanced at her watch, and saw how late it was.Neither had noticed: both were night owls.

“Um…I also might pick up a new mini fridge tomorrow, if I can.You’re welcome to join.I’ll need beer and raisins to get me through the coming weeks.”

“We can get you some chocolate…like from Gristedes.”

“I don’t want chocolate from Gristedes.That’s disgusting.”

“You’ll take what I give you and you will fucking like it.”

“Then you can taste test it first.I’ll be sure to keep the bucket around when you vomit.I’ll preserve the puke in my new fridge, label it ‘Christina,’ and it can be a part of history.It’ll be a new collection I call, ‘I Told You So.’”

Christina just shook her head.He was much more high-strung, moody, and talkative than usual.A quicker, better sense of humor, too.“God you’ve been wound up these past few days.Why are you so riled up?”

“You get me riled up.You, and potential rape cases do that to me.”

“Like Mercury alien probing?”

“There’s no such thing as aliens.Only dark and light beings.”He was quite serious in that statement.

Christina laughed.“I reckon you take pride in being crazy.”

Travis chuckled too.“Sometimes,” he said quietly.“There’s little time to sleep if we’re to leave early today.Perhaps we could go for a stroll down the street until the sun rises.We’ll go over what you’ll say, what we’ll do, our backup strategies, and what to expect.I’ll fill you in more details about the context.Then, I’ll have to take quick care of a few weapons.You will also need to park the car as well as be on watch when the time comes.That’s all.”

“THAT’S all.”

“That’s all.Well, I guess I should tell you about the bomb…”

Christina almost choked on her spit. 

“The what now?”


	26. Love and War Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: There are mentions of mistreatment (including sexual) of minors in some parts, mentions of death, and there might be a violent scene in the next chapter.

Travis was whistling The Andy Griffith Show theme tune as he ironed his shirt.

It was a plaid flannel shirt.He had chosen it specifically, after a long deal of looking through his shirts to find the right one to wear.He had to search in a box, as his closet and clothesline he once had in his room were emptied or taken down.

He wore it with steel-toed boots and his nicest belt: Western with the pearl buckle.He then put on his veteran’s jacket with his name stenciled on the back.It had not been worn in a while.

The outfit was reminiscent of what he wore before the shootout on purpose.He wanted to subtly remind them that he was still a folksy, simple guy who had nothing but good intentions—and the same wardrobe.It would also remind them of his all-around “heroic” persona.

Some minutes later, Christina was with him, curious at the weapons in front of her.

They had taken a quiet walk around the avenue until the sky lightened.They briefly separated to change and grab some things.At dawn they were back in Travis’s apartment, brushing away their lengthy conversation hours before to prepare for something else, something far more important.This was the day that Travis was either doomed to lockup or prove worthy of his wits.They had to present a fine case to the NYPD: a force to be reckoned with.He was trying his utmost hardest to stay steady and focused, to not show any sign of fear.Easier said than done.

Travis removed his guns from a case, because they were both going to bring a gun with them.He showed Christina the “bomb,” which contained pipes and duct tape and a bottle of some fluid. _That_ was in case, if everything should go completely wrong, the building would have to be blown up and erased of evidence.He swore that everyone would be out of the building when it happened, it would be controlled, or it could even be placed in a tunnel.Christina told him that was stupid and crazy, but she had no way of talking him out of it.It likely wouldn’t be used, but Travis was that anxious.

“I was up for three nights straight making that,” Travis had explained.“It was a real kicker to get all the ingredients, and I read several manuals, but I think I figured it out.It took up even more of my sleeping time, so it better have been worth it.”

Travis decided on a simple black handgun and his .44 Magnum.He played around with his snub nose, telling Christina about it, and how he bought it.He apparently had gone back for more since that time, because he had quite a few. 

“That’s a woman’s weapon,” Christina said upon seeing the snub nose, “I can see it fitting in a purse right next to the pepper spray…no wonder you like it.”

“I’m gonna give you the automatic.It’s simple enough to use.Do you know how to shoot?”

“Pull the trigger.”

“Essentially, but let me show you what to do with this particular gal.”Travis demonstrated the technique with both weapon instructions and how to hold and aim it.

“I…I don’t know about this.”

“I thought you told me that you’ve shot guns before.”

“Yeah, rifles, on a few family hunting trips…and it was years ago.I don’t trust myself with… _that_.”

“It’s very easy.You gotta be careful, and be holding it the right way, though.Be quick, too.”

She sighed and took the silver gun, even holding it with caution.Her draw was slow and awkward, but she practiced with it while Travis continued to rehearse his answers.They were mostly prepared but Travis had a feeling he would forget and would have to wing it. 

It made it easier to think of it as a last-minute presentation for school.It would be over soon, whatever happened, it would be over. 

He saw Christina dropping a bullet and said, “Leave it here, if ya need to.If it’s too difficult, I’ll take all the guns.But I’d like it if you could protect yourself.”

“No,” Christina answered sharply, “I’m taking it.” She hoped it wouldn’t have to be used today, and she hoped she wouldn’t blow any of her fingers off.She hid it under her shirt.Travis had holsters.

“I need a disguise, so I don’t end up in trouble next.” Christina said.“I’m thinking a mustache, and killer sideburns.”

“Why a mustache?” Asked Travis.

“Because men with mustaches are sexy.”

While Christina’s back was turned, Travis downed a handful of unknown pills.

They went over everything one more time, then Travis opened the door and turned off the lights.The windows were still covered.He secured all the locks: “Make sure everything is held down here…always aware of our surroundings.”He straightened the plaid shirt and flattened down his hair.“Here we go.”

Soft chirping and lighter clouds behind buildings had begun to replace the evening lights and sounds from earlier.It was already obvious that it was going to be a cloudy, grey day.They went to the storage unit where Travis kept his personal car.He drove them to the brothel, which was actually on the opposite side of the borough he lived.He had to drive quickly before the morning rush traffic.

“And of course there’s no parking spaces,” Travis said as he observed the entire street covered in both tourist cars and police cars.He drove around until he found a parking deck.He went up the dark floors of the garage. 

It was incredibly quiet, and there was no one to be found in the garage except for the empty cars.Christina peeped nothing but a man’s arm hanging out of a van window in resting position, a cigarette in between his fingers.The shadows covered the rest of him, including his face. 

“This is creepy,” she whispered. 

“Mmm.” Travis’s eyes darted around as he tried to adjust his parking.

When he stepped out of the car, the van had left.After a check around, he opened the trunk.Inside were the guns and other tools.Christina walked over to see.

“We’ll leave these here,” he said.

“What was the point of bringing all this? What is it for?” Christina asked.

“For later.”

That didn’t help Christina’s confusion.

“Obviously we can’t bring this shit in.It’s stayin in here for now.You’ll stay here, too.”

She put a fist on her hip.

“I need to take a look around…go around the building, take rounds, see a little bit of what this is all about, and what it’s gonna be like inside…they might just want me and me alone.”

“What about me?”

“You have the special duty of staying in the car and keeping guard.That is until it’s your turn to talk.” He grabbed a clipboard from the backseat.“Can you do that? I need to know, Christina.”

“Whatever.Sure.”

“Fan-fuckin-tastic.I give you permission to take my car if they decide to shoot me on sight.”

Though he wasn’t being serious, it concerned her a bit: “Don’t go dying on me, Travis.”

“We all have to die.”

She turned her head to the floor.He gestured her to get in the driver’s seat.

Christina rested her hands on the wheel while her uneasiness remained: “I have this, er…a gnawing feeling in my gut…and that’s always a bad sign.What happens if they come in and nose me out, huh?”

“Then you turn them into fine slices of Swiss cheese,” Travis said with a joking smile.She wasn’t even meeting his gaze now.

He tapped his hand on the car door before leaving.“I’ll be back.”

He had disappeared when Christina saw the van driving back in.She watched him for a moment, and then turning around was met with the bomb lying comfortably in the backseat.She swallowed what felt like marbles.

The van drove to a higher floor, and Christina sighed.“Put me out of my damn misery already man.”She drove in circles until leaving for the floor below.Once again worried about wrecking Travis’s car, she was grinding her teeth the whole time.The spot she caught sight of was tight and hidden well enough.She had to wait.

——————————————

Travis took another way to avoid the sight of any police car, coming to the brothel from a different side.

He was careful to sneak around cars and slink near the edges and alleyways between the buildings.He had his clipboard with him, taking notes and drawing the layout and dimensions of the brothel and its neighbors.Sometimes he’d press on walls—there was little meaning to it.

He found loose bricks under the next-door building, and removed them and dug underneath to place the clipboard, which he had now wrapped in a paper bag left on the street.

Travis prepped himself, then waltzed over to the doors of the brothel.He was about to knock, when one door opened.

“Travis Bickle?”

Travis nodded.

“Come in.You’re right on time.”

Travis entered to see that the place was covered in even more police tape.Investigations were halted for a moment, because there were only two officers inside.There was chalk tracing around footprints, and a private room set up with a chair and table to interview…or interrogate.

“Please hold your hands above your head and turn to the wall.”

He was patted down.It was like the hotel cult all over again. 

“Please sit down,” the cop who let him in moved his hand toward the chair in a small room.

Travis sat.“I’d like to know what this is about-”

“I’m asking the questions, please.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Officer Luffey, and the officer to your right is Officer Nolte, who will be overseeing.Also present is Paul Keegan, a lawyer assigned to you until we are notified that you have one.”

Travis noticed Officer Nolte to be the cop who had greeted and complimented him when he visited the lobby before.

“Mr. Bickle, do you understand that you are under investigation by the law, its dictations, and its standards in this state of New York?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you understand you have the right to remain silent and can refuse to answer further questioning, or refer to your attorney?”

“Yes sir.”

“And do you understand that everything and anything you say in this room may be used against you in a court of law, and you understand your Miranda rights?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are you prepared to answer our list of questions, and comply to the law?”

“Yes.”

“Are you prepared to give us only the truth?”

“Y-yes.”

“…alright. Officer Nolte, hand me the papers on the left.”

Travis held his breath and folded his hands.

“Mr. Bickle, I am sure you are aware how important of a suspect you are in this case.Officer Fields was last seen with you, going upstairs of this very structure.He was not reported to be seen again afterwards, having gone missing.You, meanwhile, were not reported to have left through any of the entrances.Would you care to explain any of this to me?”

“I, uh, I will.Um-” Travis cleared his throat, “I wanted to explore the upstairs, since I had not seen it since the summer of 1975, when I shot three men to save a young girl…as you uh, as you know.Officer Fields…he said I was allowed to go up, so I did.I was in a hallway and he, well he came up to check on me, I suppose.He just started saying all this stuff to me, like that he wanted to quit and run away, and he was afraid a former criminal set free was gonna kill him, sometime or another.He was crazy.He was going on and on how he was gonna make his escape that same day without a trace.He told me he had to leave because he was involved in child porn, and was close to gettin caught.He threatened me, telling me that he would shoot me if he even saw me near the police downstairs—if I wanted to leave, I had to do it where he could see.So that he knew I wouldn’t tell.I was so frightened, I burst into a room and left through the fire escape.He uh, he watched.I guess he got his wish to run away….I’m sorry I didn’t inform you about all this much earlier.”

The two cops looked at him for a moment.He wondered if they were trying not to laugh…or perhaps it was only his imagination. 

“That sounds rather…sensational, Mr. Bickle,” Officer Nolte said.

“But the thing is…” Officer Luffey brought up, “One of our men have indeed told us that Officer Fields _may_ have had connection to child abuse.This was never proven, but he had one count of trying to inappropriately touch a 15 year old girl in the back of his police car, and was frequently chewed out by the chief.He paid the girl in court.However, we did not witness any indication that he was depressed, frantic, or wanted to leave our force.”

“It’s what I remember.And my memory ain’t always that great,” Travis said.He didn’t like to fib, especially to the police of all people, but it was what he decided had to be done.Besides, it was not _entirely_ false, his story.

“You definitely should have informed us earlier.You have the closest testimony, from the sound of it.”Officer Luffey was now trying to detect any lying in Travis’s face.

“Sir, I’ll do anything to help with this investigation.I’ll help in the search for him; I’ll be right next to the dogs and everything.This has been bothering me for a while, as you can expect.”

“What was the name of the criminal who he said was after him?” Officer Nolte asked.

“He only told me his first name—Barton.”

“Barton…why does that sound familiar?” Nolte then wondered.

Officer Luffey spoke again: “If you are to be believed, you are telling us that you have no clue where he went, what happened to him, and deny that you had any part in it?”

“If I may,” Keegan started, “I do believe my client had no cause to hurt a police officer who had supported him for his actions in ’75.”

Nolte leaned over: “Travis, we know you’re connected to the disappearance of Officer Fields.Come clean, and your sentence will be swift.”

“Sounds great, but I did not murder him.That’s what I’m tying to tell you.”

“We may have to take you to the station, where others will be…much _rougher_ with you.”

“Barton.It was Barton.”

“Mr. Bickle, confess.”

Officer Luffey interrupted after flipping through some papers.“Hold on a second.”Travis and Nolte looked over at him.

“Fields has a report here on a Barton person.A child pornographer, allegedly.Fields says that in an investigation, Barton’s name was brought up.He says he found his phone number and they had conversations.After being accused, Barton had threatened him, Fields now undercover, with murder _ten_ times.He also says that the man had moved to a country where he was protected; he had evaded arrest.‘He wants to kill me,’ Fields says.…’” Luffey slowly set his eyes back onto Travis.

Paul Keegan made up a story about how that proves Travis is innocent.

“You said you have a witness to defend you,” Luffey said, “please bring them in.”

“Yes sir.”

Christina was still in the car, reading the book Travis had bought her for her birthday.The chapter was about beheading.

There was another book in the car, which apparently was on the CIA.It was Travis’s.Torture, CIA…it was almost as if he was trying to give her subliminal messages with these books about what he wanted to happen.Maybe he was smarter than she gave him credit for.

Wait—the book was also about execution—beheading.Oh no.

Christina shut the book.Travis _wanted_ to be arrested, didn’t he? He wanted to be executed!

But he had come prepared as if he knew he would find his way out.How could he _possibly_ escape punishment, though?She knew this was a bad idea.She considered taking his car, getting rid of the bomb, and driving home in these last precious minutes she had to herself.What was she thinking?

She edged herself closer to the pedals.She started the car, and was ready to reverse out of the parking spot.Yet her hands and feet were barely moving—she was stopping herself.

_Drive._

She couldn’t do it.She couldn’t desert him.

A light tap on the window spooked her.She rolled it down, seeing Travis bend over.“Why’d ya move?”

“There was someone watching me.”

“It’s your turn.”

She walked beside Travis in the long walk to this cursed building.He led her to the room, where she was greeted by some stern police officers and a lawyer.“Sit,” Officer Luffey said.

“Your name?”

“Christina Valdez.”

“And where do you live, Ms. Valdez?”

“218 Carraway Street, off of Central Park Avenue.”

“How do you know Mr. Bickle?”

“He’s been a lifelong friend of mine.We visit each other when we can.”

Travis noticed that she had put on her best New York accent.

“It should be said, Ms. Valdez, that we would require you to answer all of our questions, and answer them truthfully.Do realize that anything you say or do can be incriminating.Though you may remain silent, according to the-”

“—5th Amendment of the Constitution, ‘nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law’ …yes,” she finished.Officer Nolte raised an eyebrow.

“Do you remember what happened that day, when Mr. Bickle had allegedly escaped from here?” Officer Luffey began.

“Yes.I was taking a nap, as I often do, and he had come through my window—which I left unlocked…he was a whole _mess_.He…he likes to go through windows, and fire escapes.”

“Had he done that before? Go through windows?”

“Oh, all the time.”

“Why did you have your windows unlocked?”

Christina looked at Keegan, who said: “Gentlemen, that’s a personal matter and should not be necessary to ask.”

“Alright.Can you tell me the time when he entered your dwelling?”

“Mmm, 4:56 in the afternoon.”

“Thank you.What did he say to you, if anything at all?”

“He was mostly pacing around…he seemed very uh, off-put, you know.Nervous.I asked him what was wrong, and he told me he had learned something terrible.I told him to sit down and calm down before he _fell_ down.” She smiled, but the officers did not.“He goes on, and explained clearly that if he told me, it would put us both in a load of trouble.I left him alone.He would tell me later that even police officers can be involved in things like murder and sexual abuse, and to be on the lookout for someone named Barton.”She then looked at Luffey and Nolte: “I defended you, of course… I like to serve and protect, too.”

Luffey sighed.“So that was all he said?”

“That was all he said, sir.” Her fingers were pressed together, and her legs were crossed, one foot moving from nerves.Travis was anxiously picking at hangnails and pieces of cotton in his shirt the entire time.Their body language did not pass by Officer Luffey.

“When did he leave?”

“After dinner.We played with a Slinky and that little peg game, with the wooden board…the one from back in the day, remember?”

“I do remember that,” Nolte pointed and smiled.

“Right!”

Luffey glared at Nolte and then returned to Christina.“Has Mr. Bickle ever shown suspicious behavior, particularly murderous intent?”

“You mean other than shooting three people?”

“Yes, other than that.”

“I do not recall.He’s a man of few words.But he’s also the most gentle, and loving person I know, I can tell you that.He feels strongly for children—he hates their exploitation.He does have some issues from his past and the war, but he’s been so great at taking his medication everyday, exercising, and helping others out…it’s nothing short of impressive.”Travis couldn’t help smiling at her.

Luffey sighed and rubbed his eyes.“If you don’t have anything else to say, then I suppose we’re done.”

“I don’t.The only last thing I might say is that I believe with my whole _heart_ that he didn’t do a single thing.”

“Thank you for your time Ms. Valdez.Mr. Bickle, we are still investigating this case and you are still a prime suspect.For now, I’m going to look more into this Barton individual and, well, I guess you can leave.Although we may bring you back in at any moment if it comes to light that you’re lying, so I would advise staying close by today….not venturing off too far.”

“I understand,” Travis replied.

Paul Keegan came over to him.He offered to be his actual lawyer.“As you can see, I deal with good, ordinary people convicted with the most heinous of crimes.Here’s my card.”He gathered his briefcase.“I like you, Travis.It’d be an honor to defend you in real time, in somewhere where it actually matters.What do you think?”

“I’ll think about it,” Travis said softly, after he tucked the card into an inner pocket.

“Love to hear it,” Keegan made his hand into a finger gun to point at Travis.Travis was unsettled.He checked his watch: it was 43 minutes after 8 o’clock.43—the number.He was even more unsettled.

“I respect you for what you did,” Nolte said, coming behind him.“But don’t ever think you can run away from the law _every_ time.Whatever you see in movies, it don’t count for much in real life.Just ‘cause you think you’re Vito Corleone doesn’t make you Vito Corleone.”

Travis shrugged, not knowing who that was.“You don’t need to run away when you haven’t done anything wrong…please be careful out there, Officer,” Travis smirked and gave Nolte a nudge on the chest before walking away.Nolte was wide-eyed, and Luffey was busy talking to a radio. 

Christina walked up to Travis.“How… _how the fuck did that happen_?”

“I have no idea. I mean, I call it the Hand of Providence.It follows me around.I mean it, it protects me—the grace.”

“How does grace come into play when you take lives and lie off your ass? Just asking.”

“Shhh.”

She hated to be shushed, but she followed along.

“Come on, let’s get outta here.”

They walked back outside.Both sped up when they saw the whole group of cops gathered next to the cars; most of whom had noticed the two.

“I really do wanna thank you for defendin me,” Travis told her once they were out of earshot.

“Whatever I can do.”

Travis retrieved his clipboard from under the next door building, and he leaned against it as he wrote things down rapidly.He had to reread what he wrote several times, not trusting himself.He came to the conclusion that his records were correct.Even if the brain was playing its tricks with its doses of cortisol and adrenaline.

Christina wanted to ask if he, deep down, wanted to be arrested, and given the death sentence, but decided on one day of stress at a time.

A young cop jogged up to them.

_Fuck, what now?_

“Hey! Aren’t you that Bickle guy from the shootout?” The cop was beaming.

Travis looked around before responding: “Why do you ask?”

“You’re kinda a little famous in our circle.”

“Is that so?”

“Totally.What brings you back here?”

“I wanted to make a stop.”

“Oh.Well, I’m glad to see you doing well.If there’s anything more we can do for you, just ask.I’ll be right here for…for a while.”

Travis noticed a tattoo on his wrist.“Did you serve?”

“Yes! Five years, Navy.”

“I was a Marine.”

“Yeah, yeah.I read about that.I was in Special Forces, as well.Knew one guy who’s now in the CIA! It’s so interesting, you know, listening to his stories.”

Travis perked up: “Can you tell me anything you know about the CIA?”

“Uh…what I know?”

“Yeah.As in were they ever involved in mind control, or JFK, Nam, space, or the Manson murders…that kinda thing.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know…really…but I can try to get a hold of that cat if you want!”

“No need for it.Maybe you could tell me more about what’s been happening in this…” Travis gestured to the brothel, trailing off.

“Certainly.We’re still wondering what we can do with it, maybe demolish it, or possibly leave it like it is.Maybe we can have some civilians come through and visit when it’s all cleared out.”

“You should leave it up as a shrine of sorts to prostitution victims,” Travis commented.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.But the city wouldn’t provide for that.It’ll probably end up in shambles, or turned into another hotel, God forbid.”

The cop made rounds in the boulevard with Travis and Christina while he pointed out various buildings and their history, leading up to recent years.“Over here used to be a bank and then

a boarding house.There’s an urban legend that about 10 years ago, the mob used it as a meeting place, and some people were murdered there.Another legend says a few chosen _kids_ were hired to do it.Kinda disturbing, really.But it’s legend, like I said.”

Christina thought about that.It sounded like a familiar story to her, for some reason, and for another unknown reason, it made Adam come to her mind.

“Then the brothel was built about…ehhh, I’d say in the 1910s, most likely.It was a grand hotel that connected the opposing street, and was made in the same style as the apartments on that same street.Of course it was updated over time.From what I know, like most of Manhattan, there are tunnels underneath.”

Travis adjusted his jacket, and rubbed his nose.

“Our reports say that quite a few pimps made their living from this spot, including the ones that you…yeah.Most of the girls came willingly, but some claimed to have been kidnapped.They were kinda messed up.Some liked doing it, and then others said they were repeatedly raped and abused.Many had been beaten—and you could see it in the bruises on their skin, or the pain in their eyes.A lot of them seemed perfectly normal and healthy, and even _defended_ their pimps!”

They stopped in front of the firehouse.“Some of the stories we had though…woo, man.There was this one girl we found, and I mean she was filthy.She kept bragging about how she had passed all these STIs to her clients, including a policeman, she said, and made good money with her pimp with the amount of men she infected.She smelled like piss, her hair was knotted, and a gynecologist visit confirmed that she had mites and crab lice….the doctor saw it on her when he examined in between her legs.”He polished his badge before continuing. 

“Another woman had six children, six.She claimed she was paying for their food with this job.We had to interrogate her when she said she let her son watch.And you know, you had the girls who were young and scared, or the older women who had no way else to earn money.Some even just loved the lifestyle.Sad, but typical stories.But it was those stories I mentioned that will stick with me forever.And that’s just the tip in this city.”

Travis felt a strong urge to clean.He did not know who or what, but he had to clean.

Speaking of which: “Oh—and there was also a gay male prostitute that worked around this corner sometimes.He would wear eyeliner and heels.He called himself ‘Steamy’ and he was actually the cleanest one we’ve come across! He was always bringing his work clothes back and forth to the dry cleaners, where we were first called on him.Apparently they nicknamed him ‘The Steamer’ for that.It may also have been because he would clean you out…in more ways than one.Yep, The Steamer.”

“Was he from Cleveland?” Christina asked and Travis almost broke his serious demeanor and disgusted expression to laugh.“Stop,” he whispered to her. 

“And,” the youthful cop sighed and threw his hands.“then you made honest men out of all of them.What more can I say?

I don’t think those tunnels are used for anything nowadays.The state’s health organization also has to do a run through before we mess with it.”

Travis scratched his chin, looking at one of the room’s outside spaces.“Was there anything more found on underage trafficking? After Iris?”

“Um, no, we haven’t met or heard about someone that young…only a 17 year old runaway.We assume the girls are lured in, and groomed.So even if they did exist, they’re probably too frightened to come out about their experiences.”

They found themselves back next to the brothel.Officer Luffey came out of the building and called to the young cop.The latter quickly parted ways with Travis, but not before grinning and thanking him again.He was likely about to find out to have his smile washed away, Travis thought.

The police officers, one twirling handcuffs, were now staring in suspicion at Travis especially.A detective looked at him like he was dirt, and proceeded to write in a notepad.Officer Nolte was in the window.Another officer had his hand gripping his gun.

Christina started walking fast to the parking deck.Travis decided to follow her, tucking his clipboard in tight.

They stopped at a rest spot with a tree and a bench.Travis raised his eyebrows at her, and she let out her breath.They were just cops, not fucking Black Ops.He thought he could take them down easily if he had to…surely.Then Christina’s downturned head rose up like a shoot: “Travis?”

“What?”

“The _things_ are still in the car…and _Officer Fields_ is still underground…”

_Oh shit._

This is part of the reason why he brought her.That was something he should’ve immediately checked on, not forgotten about as soon as questions were fired at him.He didn’t like to admit it, and indeed he was better off alone in most circumstances, he was designed to be alone, but there was something relieving about having another mind with him.A real mind, not an inverted one in his head.A clean mind, not polluted by alcohol…or polluted by something out of his control.This was not only a learning experience for her, it was learning for him as well.

“Let’s get the stuff outta the car, then.I think we went over everything, right?”

“I believe so.”They jogged to the opening of the garage, and then walked until they found Christina’s hidden parking spot.Travis opened the trunk, and lifted a hidden opening—it reached deep into the car, to the point that the engine could be heard.Christina was quite proud of helping with that.He gathered the supplies in the huge duffel bag and re-tied the tarp.

Travis paid the toll for their parking time upon exiting.He drove at a swift pace before getting on a road with a speed limit.He turned on another road unfamiliar to Christina.

“We’re goin the back way.”

“What if the valiant guys in blue follow us?”

“Then they’ll be in some deep shit in the news for trying to take down the man who helped them.”

This was dangerous, but it definitely wasn’t boring.Mostly, Christina wanted to be useful.She couldn’t stand feeling useless or worthless in any way; she needed a job.If that wasn’t required, she wouldn’t even bother doing it, doing anything really.Certain people had certain talents.If they were better at something, that’s simply what they were better at.“All Along the Watchtower” was a famous song, a song that she liked too.But it had become known for being a Jimi Hendrix song, not Bob Dylan’s, the original writer.It wasn’t that Bob Dylan’s songwriting was poor, or that he was a bad musician.Hendrix was simply better at perfecting it.In the same vein, it wasn’t that Travis was dumb as a rock or unskilled, she was just a little better in her areas.So he chose her as a counterweight.

And that’s good, she thought haughtily, because her weights were _clearly_ superior to the majority.She sniffed hard, the excess fluids drained back into her sinuses.

After what felt like a long time and a drive through an underground tunnel, Travis parked at the side of the abandoned, small park.No one was there, as always.The trees, grass, and plants were overgrown, and it looked a fright.Travis had to think for a moment.

This was the exit, and yet no one even bothered to secure it, destroy it, or _anything_.Wouldn’t it need to be more hidden than it already was? Did they want him to find it?

He brushed off those thoughts as he hurried to remove the grass patches he had used for cover.He lifted open the hatch door with his arms and a crowbar.They lifted themselves down into the darkness.Christina had not been down since she ran away, and now she had to do it again.The subway sounded far off.

For the second time, Travis led her to the opening.She smelled it before she saw it.

Christina gagged, and covered her nose and mouth with the back of her hand.She saw what was in the room and gagged again.Travis smiled, like nothing was wrong, and heaved the bag of supplies through the opening as well.He unzipped the bag, and took out more strong smells: cleaning supplies and some kind of unknown, bottled fluids.He really did come prepared.

“We’re gonna try to clean the body.”

She looked at him incredulously: “Are you fucking insane? I’m not touch-” She gagged.

“You’re not gonna catch a disease.He musta died some days ago, when I stopped comin to him.” Travis put on gloves and started rubbing the arms with fluid.“You said you would help, now get down and help me.”

She listened to his instruction on what to do, never touching too deeply on the corpse.Travis was used to it because he would help his grandfather at his funeral home.Occasionally, he would help with the embalming.Christina still didn't know why this was necessary, but Travis clearly had some reason. They had to clean the floor and walls too.

After they were done, Travis took out the tarp while Christina had to move Fields’ body out of the way.The limp head rolled onto her shoulder as she used all her strength to move him, and cold, but moist flesh hit her neck.She bit her lip and winced.

Travis dragged his body by the feet onto the tarp, where he wrapped him up.He got out a duct tape roll and taped him around the neck, his mid-body, and arms.Christina taped his knees and feet together.Travis kicked the wrapped corpse to check the strength of the coverings.Almost.He tightened it one more time, and put another roll of tape over the middle.“Well screw me silly, we did it,” Travis put his hands in his jacket pockets.

The corpse had bruises and dented marks that indicated damage.“Was beating and starving him to death worth it…did you get what you came for?” Christina’s voice was sharp.

“I didn’t starve him, not until the end.I tried to take care of him.And yes, he finally told me about Barton, which is the fake name for the so-called man who introduced him to child porn… and snuff films.”

“…Snuff films?” Christina thought that was an urban legend.Though many parents feared it.

“You heard me.I have no idea if it’s really true, but he swore to me it was.He also told me Barton’s location as of right now.” Travis pulled out a wrinkled note from his pants pocket.“We can pay him a visit…” he suddenly sounded sinister.

“One thing at a time,” Christina shivered.“Children….sheesh, what is wrong with people.”

“You see why I did it in that moment, then.”

“You didn’t have to do anything.You could’ve just reported him and gone on with your own business.”

“I guess I was not in my right wits that day.”

“Shocker.”

“A week ago, I almost killed someone else.The day I, I dealt with this nice guy over here, I saw what I think was a pregnant teenage girl being interviewed on a couch.Well, last week, I was down here trying to wake Mr. Fields up and I went up the opening on the wall to check for someone.After a struggle, I near walked right into her in the hall.She was back.I had my gun, and upon seein a figure I almost pulled it out and popped her.I was damn close to it.She was scared, and went back downstairs.I almost killed a pregnant girl…but I didn’t, because my wits came back to me.So I’m not that bad.”

“If you did shoot her, what would you have done, or thought?”

“I wouldn’t have been happy about it, surely.But that child would’ve grown up in a bad environment anyway, so maybe I might’ve spared it.”

Christina looked at the body.“She was probably another whore, like the ones that cop was telling us in those gnarly stories of his.”

Travis kneeled to re-stock the bag, and cringed.“This is just demonic.”

Even Christina, who could be a little gross, looked repulsed at a few of the stories.

Travis scoffed.“Pedophiles.Off with all of their fucking heads, I say.”

“It seems that you might be mistaking those with the mental _paraphilia_ disorder pedophilia with child molesters, but I know what you mean, man.”

“I don’t give a flying macaroni fuck what they call themselves, none deserve life and I rest my case.”

“That’s fair,” she shrugged.Travis caught sight of the wall, and the markings on it.

He walked over to it.“Why are there drawings on every wall? What was the point?”

“They’re freelance artists.” Christina walked over as well.

“I have no clue what these symbols mean, and I almost dread to find out.”

“You can’t decode any of it?”

“I’m not the Rosetta Stone, so no.”

Travis rested his foot on the body’s taped neck.“Anyways, we need to get a move on.Grab him.”

“Where?”

“His lower half.I got him in the front.” Travis held a flashlight in his mouth as he carried the bag over his shoulder and the top section in his arms.He was carrying a lot of weight, and so was slow-going.Christina heaved the bottom half, and tried to maneuver along with Travis’s movement into the tunnel.To say it was difficult is to say that a cake is sweet.

They jostled around, moving one way to the next while Travis tried to light the path.He was starting to get a crick in his neck.Christina meanwhile, completely stopped and almost dropped Fields when she heard a snap. _Was that a broken bone?_

“Hey, don’t drop him! Here, just…turn him around.See what I’m doing?”

They moved him after taking a couple seconds of rest, and then attempted to lift him up the tunnel.Travis let him go for a moment to climb up out of the tunnel.The stiff feet poked Christina’s face when she pushed, and Travis pulled him up.He then lifted her up, as she climbed.The pressure on her legs from that was something else.

She panted and he slammed the opening shut, making sure it was locked."I can’t tell if I’m about to have an internal carotid artery stroke, or punch you in the stomach,” Christina grunted.

He covered it up again.“Carry him to the car—fucking immediately.We can’t be havin anyone catching us.”Travis stuffed him in the back seat while Christina emptied everything in the trunk.They switched places, and she set the objects in the trunk, covering it with a blanket.He had curled the body up in the trunk and taped it shut. 

Christina carefully picked up the bomb: “Travis, what about…this?”

He took it out of her hands.“Give me the scissors from the bag.”Leaning inside of the back, he leisurely undid a wire, his fingers trembling a bit.He finally dubbed it safe after an amount of time and wrapped it in a towel.He placed it next to the bag.“Another time,” he said.

They rushed back into the car.Travis drove…and kept driving. 

For most of the ride, he was on a random rant concerning the CIA.

“The CIA—their modus operandi is for control.They’ll organize coups in other countries.They induced mind control on that crazy guy who killed a girl in the 50s, they do it to assassins, and I’m sure they do it to this day, with acid drugs or some shit.The psychiatrist who came up with it knew Manson, it was never about a race war or Helter Skelter…and Jack Ruby, who shot Oswald.I’m not kidding.And I know they were in Vietnam because I heard of them being there.I tried to ask my friend Ernest about it…ehm, once.” He looked a bit sad at that last claim.

Christina’s eye turned back to the CIA book.“What’s your obsession with the CIA?”

“I think it’s important to know, and it’s interesting.I could be wrong, but if you look deep into their studies, you come to some good conclusions.”

“Mmhmm.” Christina watched out the window, perhaps a little bored.

“For all we know, they’re also behind the police after me…with that one guy knowing one of em,” he joked. 

“If that was true, you would think they’d be far more competent in taking you down right then and there.”

“I’m glad I got away.That’s for damn sure, but…it’s sort of depressing.I, a murderer, can go free and so many who simply were found in the wrong place at the wrong time spend a lifetime in jail.”

“Or are falsely accused,” Christina said with resentment, and Travis looked at her for a moment sympathetically.“Right,” he said.

“But it’s still funny,” Travis returned spirited to the CIA, “how these ‘experts’ all claim the CIA’s operations have been ‘disbanded.’ Psst.Whatever you say.They’re probably still out in force, planning more fake crises and tryin to stir the pot.”

“If they’ve done anything, they will eventually answer for it like everyone else.No one’s untouchable.” He couldn’t tell if she agreed with him, or was just saying that so that he would be placated and she could think more about what happened that day in silence.

“It’s just another blemish on our current age,” he made a turn down a dirty street, “damn.”

“I feel bad for people in these times, and the kids who have to grow up in it, inherit it.We’ve been stretched too thin as a people.Too many different groups in New York forced to be with each other, and naturally, chaos ensues.Our mentally ill are treated badly, and our homeless are treated badly.We don’t have not one uniting moral message or foundation.We made our beds and now we have to lie in them.”He immediately noticed and turned his nose up at the collecting garbage and XXX peep shows he was now seeing in broad view.It was all more rundown than the ones in downtown Manhattan, yet the buildings seemed more recently built.Haphazardly built.

“Where are we?” Christina asked, seeing the same things he did.

Travis finally stopped in a spot with a parking meter.He pulled out the paper again.“Barton.”

Christina was about to speak up, but, as always, she was too curious.She wanted to see if it was all true.In addition, her left eye was in pain and she was trying not to say anything about it.

However, Travis already noticed it.“Jesus…stand still for a second.”

She tried to turn her head: “It’s nothing.Leave me alone.”He gently moved her chin with his fingers to look closer at the swollen, red eye.It was watering down her cheek. 

She pulled his hand away, and covered it with her own hand.“I’m having a bad allergic reaction to something.It’s in the air, or one of those necrophile chemicals you had.Nice job.”It was also close to spring, her worst allergy season.

“When did it start?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

She gave him a blank stare.

“Are you gonna be ok? Do we need to stop at the store and get some cream or something?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh,” she said sharply.She tried to weakly smile at him, and then cringed when he turned his back. 

“Suck it up.”

Travis stopped to survey the new borough they stepped into.It had become nicer, and then grimy again.He had not driven down this area, it was so far off, but he was aware of these neighborhoods and their high propensity for crime.At least two murders had occurred on one or more of these streets.This borough looked newer, yet a lot of the structures were poorly taken care of, or were starting to fall apart.There were wire fences in between some of them. 

It wasn’t as bad as the junkie neighborhood Travis found months ago, but he advised Christina to have a hold on her gun anyway, as did he.She hoped she could be able to perform with it well if anything happened.After the period of calm in the car, they were both on high-alert for the third time that day.

The afternoon was cloudy, and a darkness deepened in the sky over the buildings.That combined with the musty smell of moistness in the air, bluish shadows, and a cold to moderate temperature gave an earthy feeling to their environment.There was also a hard wind, which bit at their ears and caused strings of hair to sweep over their brows.It was quiet other than the occasional shout or the sound of construction—the neighborhood was being expanded.Many of the houses were boarded shut, un-lived in.The buildings often came in black or white.

Travis pointed to one of them: “I like that design.” 

He stepped forward to examine around the front steps, and look into the blinded windows.The door was locked—he checked—and he could barely peek inside.The building itself, however, was newly painted and had a homely feeling.The thistle and dead grass that patched around the concrete brushed against his pant legs when he walked around.He put his hands in his jacket pockets, and zipped up the jacket.

Christina tried to swat flies that were coming off trash lids with her free hand.They put on gloves and held their guns close as they continued down this intriguing street.A person closed and locked their front door when they came past.Another person was an old man leaning out his window to put a shirt on a clothesline.He waved at the two unfamiliar folk.

Travis noticed a green graffiti “T” that he walked over on the road.Funny.

They reached the end, but nothing indicated the right address.Travis found another, smaller block close by.

There was a small area with a pond and some grass.Christina tugged on his sleeve.“Travis, look.” She pointed to something across from them.

It was a singular spot with rocks piled up.Behind the rocks was a wooden cross.On it, in black paint, it spelled “SPORT.” 

“Wasn’t that the name of the head honcho pimp?”

Travis’s eyes widened and then narrowed.“Indeed it was.”He closed them.“It’s their dog they buried…that’s all that is.”But he walked faster away from it.

“Weird,” Christina said.

“It’s been a weird day,” Travis replied.

There was a loud popping sound somewhere in the distance.Travis tipped his ear: “Was that a firework or a gunshot?”

“It’s Fields’ zombie coming back to life and snapping off.”

“I’d have to blow him away….heh, blow away.I hear that term used loosely by passengers who claimed to once own guns.‘If someone invaded my home, I’ll blow them away.’Don’t blow em all away.Aim, tell them you called 911, and be on guard.Because what if that person you plan to blow away is innocent? What if they had made a wrong turn and come in the wrong house? It’s just what I think, man.”He pulled out the handgun.“Speakin of which, take it out.”

They found the apartment number that was written down.The building was quite boring: undecorated, plain, unsuspecting.It had to be his.

She gripped the automatic and watched him ring the doorbell.They waited for a while, and then he knocked on the brass door handle and rung again.After no response, and no one seen in the window, Travis shrugged and put the gun back in his holster.“He’s not home.”

They walked back down the steps.Once their feet hit the pavement, the door opened.“Hi there! Can I help you?”

The man was big and burly.Tall, pot-bellied, and bearded.Smiling, crinkled eyes, and a warm countenance.Travis spoke a bit too quickly: “Yeah, we’re uh, we’re new neighbors, and um, we would love to come in and visit.”He flashed his creepy grin.He then noticed a group of black men talking on the street, and Christina thought he was looking at them with an odd amount of intensity.“If that’s good with you.”

“Oh, I see.Neighbors, huh? I haven’t heard about any new neighbors recently.What’s your names?”

“We’re trying hard to keep it on the down-low, you know.But we still wanna visit everyone when we can.I’m Travis, and this is my roommate Christina.”

“Good afternoon, and welcome! I’m not a big fan of my name, so you can just call me Barton.Feel free to come in, you guys.”Travis gave a small nod to Christina to indicate that she could follow behind him—he was the human shield here.They ventured into the apartment, which immediately smelled of new furniture and incense.

The walls were startlingly white, and wood panels at the bottom showed signs of mice.There was an open fireplace smoking, but no fire.The furniture pieces were barely in order.He led them down the narrow hall.Christina looked up at the posters of Kama Sutra positions, then slowly back to the big man leading them. 

The room he led them into had even more posters: a racing car, a naked woman, some kind of modern mixed with Native art, and a poster of a child with a dandelion.Travis was already freaked out. 

He saw that on the dresser there was the burning incense, a tie-dye blanket, and little lights in the shapes of chili peppers.There was also a skull—probably fake—and a bag of ecstasy poking out of a half-open drawer.There were rope, sunglasses, and some kind of spray next to the broken lava lamp. 

“Uhh, lemme go to the bathroom, and then in a moment I’ll be right wit ya!I’ll get you nice people some water.”Barton left the room.

“I’ll make the conversation,” Travis said, hushed.“We’re gonna get to the bottom of this fucking mud-hole, I swear it.”

Christina coughed.“Ugh…that smoke and incense…I can’t take it.”

“Are you allergic to everything?”

“Preeetty much.”She hacked and sneezed.

“Bless you!” Barton said with a bright smile as he came back.He had put on a cap.

He asked, “So, do you like the place? I have a lot more work to do on it, obviously.And sorry for the mess.”

“Ah, no worries.Mine is worse,” Travis responded.

“Where are you guys from, originally?”

“Fair Lawn, New Jersey.Eh, Hopper Avenue.”

“Hm.That’s interesting…most folks from outta state move to Times Square or somewhere, not this quaint little place.”

“That was our first choice, but we wanted a change.A _real_ change.”

“I hear ya, brother.Where do you work?”

“Where do _you_ work?”

Barton laughed.“It’s a secret.”

“Oh is it?”

“Yep.I take you for a hard-working man though, I can tell. Where and what do you do?”

Travis stepped in front of him, looking him right in the eye: “It doesn’t matter.What matters is that I use the money from it to pay to watch.”

Barton’s smile disappeared.“ _That’s_ what you’re here for.Shoulda said so.”

“How’s business, Barton? I haven’t seen anything from you in a while.”

Barton glared at Travis.“Is there something you want?”

“I’m a new customer…I want to know what I’m going into.”

“Well,” Barton sighed, “I haven’t myself made a film in, man, weeks.Months, even.I can’t find proper, uh, actors and actresses, and the lot.”

“Is it true about the children, or the teens? And that you… _snuff them out_ , afterwards?”

Barton laughed his hearty laugh.“That old rumor? Man, get outta here! Nah man, I’m just your regular neighborhood porn maker.”

Travis grinned again.“My mistake.Officer Fields must have been pissing in my ear and tellin me it’s raining.”

“Fields?Is that what you just said? How the hell do you know Fields?”

“He’s a family friend.We have…similar interests, and he brought your name up.I had to find out for myself.”Now they were getting somewhere.“No harm in that.”

“I only make that, that _stuff_ , for higher ups who can pay for it.It’s not snuff, and the youngest I’ve used was 16.It’s-it’s not what you’re thinking.I had to find a new payment plan after my bout with dog fighting ended up bare.Sure, it’s nefarious shit, but we all have to combine a living with some fun to get by.”

Animal-loving Christina was angry.“Barton,” she snickered, “what a dorky nickname.”

In a slightly disturbing turn of the head, and expression, Barton faced her: “And what was your name? Christine?” He glanced and smirked at Travis while pointing at her.“That’s a female?”

His eyes hovered over her flat chest, and she on instinct _and_ insecurity crossed her arms to cover it.Barton chuckled.“Okay—so you wanted to make a deal with me, and you thought you could bring me a potential new actress to sweeten it.She’s definitely not my _type_ , but she does have that underage look—while legal.I think I can make do with her…”

He was met with a punch to the face from Travis.It was hard enough to cause his bottom lip to bleed.“Fuck!” He tried to pat it down, saying in the meantime, “What—It was a-”

Another blow.He was a big man, so Travis had to act fast.He took out the .44 Magnum and pressed it into his cheek.

“Try not to move.”

Barton stood still, and Travis used one of his steel-toed clad shoes to kick him in the back and the pits of his legs.He stumbled, and Travis used his smaller weight to pin him onto his stomach.He pointed the gun back at him.“I hope you’re ready to tell me everything.Every last thing.”

Barton bucked, and Travis had to catch his balance.He shoved Travis in the chest with one hand, and it caused him to fall back into the drawer.Objects pummeled him.He felt the top of his head, and blood was trickling down onto his hand.They always had to put up a damn fight!

Christina tried to come forward, but Travis put his hand up to stop her.After he got up, Barton threatened him: “You’re the dumbass who shouldn’t be moving, boy.”Travis pushed the drawer onto Barton’s feet before he could say another word, causing the man to bellow and fall to his knees. 

Travis felt for the Magnum until it was back in his grasp.He gripped Barton by his shirt and now aimed for the stomach.Barton tried to scoot up, and felt cold metal on the base of his neck.His spine flinched.

Christina was burying the loaded automatic into his neck.She cocked it.

—————————————

Barton had glimpses about his life.What it was, or what it could have been.

There was his average childhood, his abusive uncle, his wife he had “pushed out of the car,” and the daughter from that union.There were his various jobs, and then his connections to positions of authority.How he remained low.How he developed a taste for the depraved.

But somehow, with all that he had lived through, it was his daughter that mattered the most.She was truly the only human being that mattered anything to him.The rest of them could all decay exposed in the sun: the clients, rich and poor, who paid him, men and women, people of all races and creeds, and every age from the smallest infant to the oldest sack of jittering bones.Perhaps if he and Travis could have discussed a shared hatred of humanity, maybe they’d come to a better ending than what was currently happening.

Travis was determined, however.Nothing could stop a force such as that.

Barton woke up from his haze of the past to give another suffered hello to the present.

He closed his heavy lids.“You need to wake up,” the soft voice goaded again.

He gradually opened his eyes to the sight of his own kitchen.It was white except for the red drops below his feet.Standing in front of him was a young man wearing an interesting jacket, a King Kong patch on its sleeve.His eyes were haunted, like he’d seen more situations like this, and _before_ this.Next to him was someone with glasses.Her eyes were emptier, she was slower, and she was standing more still, arms crossed.They were both watching him.

“There you go,” Travis said upon his waking.He turned off a large, boiling pot of water behind him.

Travis had made him pass out in a chokehold after the fight, and he woke to find he was tied several times in a thick, tight rope to a chair. 

He tried to simply get up to easily move the chair.Travis hissed.

“ _Uhhh_ , slow down there.”Barton then noticed the animal traps around his feet.

While he was out, they went all the way back to the car to retrieve the bag of supplies.

Christina saw the dried blood on Travis’s forehead.The scuffle started after she had to say something.“Do you have any bandaids in that bag, or ice?”

“I wouldn’t sweat it.It’s not too deep.”

“I should’ve stayed quiet.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.Don’t worry about it.” She faintly smiled.

It wasn’t long before Barton was singing like a canary.Like any human being, he would rather not be beaten like a dog, which Travis was clearly intent on doing.He spilled on how he was paid huge sums for his films, which some had indeed involved _hardcore_ material, as he called it.Travis was absolutely sickened when Barton revealed that one film involved a father, a foreigner, who had planned to kill his 10 year old daughter on camera.He wanted to drive nails into her fingers first.Two adult women and a boy were, actually, beaten in one of his films.Another was of a kidnapped girl, only 3, who Barton had described would be literally torn apart on camera.Instead, she was merely molested. 

Merely molested.

Travis was ready at this point.He was ready to inflict the most painful punishments on this man.He could barely be called a man.To call him scum was even insulting to pond scum.

An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.

Despite his threats, however, Barton was extremely stubborn when it came to confessing the names of who he worked for, and why he was involved with a police officer—the most important point of this session.“Start with the Catholic Church” and a laugh were the only things that came out of Barton’s mouth after Travis questioned, and he was hit for it.

Now, Travis was holding Barton’s face.“Do you have any neighbors?”

“No, no one can hear us.Nobody lives next door yet, right or left,” Barton said.

“Good.”Travis’s grip on his cheeks were strong.Even that was painful, as his beard was being pulled in the process.Travis’s dark eyes were especially crazed: watery and surrounded in purplish rings.They resembled a skull’s eye sockets if there were still eyeballs present.His pupils were small, hinting he was under the influence of something. 

“I hope you understand why I have to do this.”

“Because you’re fucking psychos…i-is why.”

“Just give up your soul, and we’ll get to talkin.You’ll tell me who you work for and the rest.”

Barton spat blood from his lip on Travis’s face, and then spat more on Christina, who saw that it got on her collar.

Travis wiped it off.He walked over to the pot of boiling water, red with heat at the bottom.“I tried, man.” He carried it over.Christina stopped him with her hands.“Travis, Travis! Stop.”

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Please, just, stop.”

“Why?”

“Put it down.”

Travis placed the pot back on the stove.“Christina…what’s with you?”

“Have you not learned one single motherfucking thing today? You were almost arrested for tying up a man, leading him to his early _grave_. You are seriously, _actually_ going to do it again?” She rolled her eyes.“Idiot.What’s this even…what’s this even meant to do? You’re not bringing revenge on anyone, except your ego, maybe.This is brutality for the sake of brutality.”

“So you think he deserves mercy…Is that what you’re really saying to me? Go on.”

“It’s not about what I think he deserves, he can go out like John of Leiden.It’s that I think _you_ don’t deserve another relapse. You’ve been doing so well.”She knew this amount of rage and violence would trigger him into another episode.

“I could care less.Justice is justice.”

“Listen, I have not seen _one_ person with trauma in my whole life who actually wanted to return to what shocked them.They usually try to avoid that…I think.”

“I’m not like most.Besides, we wouldn’t have even come here if it weren’t for my ways to get Fields to talk.How else are we gonna tear down this web?”

Christina looked at the bamboo plant in the kitchen.She looked at him sitting in that chair, nothing but the material blocking his _under_ cavity.

She then looked at the smoke coming from the fireplace.There may still be hot coals in there.There was a bowl on the counter.Rats were easy to find, as always.

She turned back to Travis: “God, I don’t know…but I know we can’t torture him.This has been a long fucking 48 hours.”

“No, you’re doing great.You did great with everything, for the whole day.Don’t give up on me just yet.”

“I tried to be…maybe I’m too over-the-top.”

“I don’t know Christina, you seem fairly cool-headed to me.Most people would’ve run away, thrown up, called the cops…but you’re _right here_.You may be doing a better job than you think.”

“Watching my friend get scalped probably helps with that,” she sounded more jaded now.Something was starting to slip off of her.

“Check this—The dutiful police come on over, and notice that _conveniently_ the same man who you tried to pin for Fields’ death, who you are _still_ under investigation for, remember, has ended up in a _conveniently_ similar situation.Come _on_ , man.Use your noggin.”

Travis nodded.“You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“And that’s why I have a plan.”

Travis sat down in front of Barton on a kitchen chair.“Well, you lucked out.How bout tellin us some more, ya evil fuck?”

“No.No more.” 

But Travis was beginning to pull an object out of the bag.

“Well…Fields wasn’t the first cop to watch.There was another, but I can’t recall his name for the life of me.Them and t-the other law-makers, politicians, judges, they paid the most.But they were far and few between.Most of them were e-everyday people.Who wanted a forbidden taste.”

“Give me names.I’ve been waiting patiently.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s interesting, thinkin about what I can do to you while I still got myself some time.My friend Wizard once told me that anyone who hurt children should be castrated…”

Barton fidgeted.

“I personally suggested that they be first cut open in the belly, disemboweled, and then lead the way down to the balls.Gut ‘em like roadkill and make ‘em into eunuchs.Set the innards on fire.Or maybe they should be skinned and filleted like some fried fish, as Charlie T said when he joined in.Doughboy said they should be raped, to get a taste of their own medicine..”

Travis had a playful grin.“But I’m afraid I’m not hard enough for that!”

Barton was trying his best to escape.“I’m sorry, that was in bad taste.Trust me, I would do some of that and worse until you squealed and _squirmed_ in my hands.But I won’t do anymore to you, as long as you tell me the audience for these movies of yours.I’ll kill you with a bullet…even though I still think it’s too quick. 

I really do need you to tell me.The hours are goin by fast.”

“End it already, Travis.Enough,” Christina advised.

“I have to know, I, I’ve come this far, I have to-” he sighed, and kneaded his head.“If this is really affecting you, then you need to step out of the room.I won’t do it in front of you.”

Christina was thinking.She had to develop a quick strategy on the spot, before she proved useless….and how she hated that.

There it was.

“I’ll talk to him.Alone.”

He wasn’t too confident for a minute, but he agreed.“Alright then.I’ll be in the living room, and after I’ll come back in.But the first thing I see come through that door…” he threatened, referring to the door connecting the hall to the living room, “…I shoot.”

She didn’t say anything, she wasn’t even visibly offended.She only gave a nod.

——————————————

Barton went off on her several times.She sat, quiet.She must not have heard him, despite sitting there.

Her legs were crossed.Every four minutes on the dot, her foot would vibrate, as it did in front of the cops.He looked up at her, and she looked back.Her left eye was puffy and tearing.She would occasionally cover it with her left hand.

She sucked on her whole pinky and stuck it into her nostril.When she removed it, a patch of dried blood vessels came off.She scraped it off with her front teeth.

She kept picking at her lips, which would end in bleeding. She’d then lick it off her lips.Barton knew it would only dry them up again.Evidently, she knew, too.It would dry, and she’d pick.This process would repeat until she stopped.

Then after four minutes her foot shook.

Barton honed into her with his deadened stare, daring, maybe hoping for her to kill him.

Finally, he found his voice again: “I know you can HEAR me-”

“Sorry.” She said it all of the sudden. “I’m not a good, um…heh, talker.I’m supposed to talk to you.”

“Let me out of this rope, and we’ll talk,” he smiled.

“I was reading this book earlier, it was about older methods of torture and execution,” she scratched her forehead, exactly five minutes after.“I know, not exactly soft pillows and cuddles…well, I was reading it, and it reminded me of how I always felt when learning about what people used to do.Why did they have to be so brutal? Why did we change?”She scratched.

“And then it hit me, that maybe…maybe they believed they were in the right, the executioners.Sure, they probably took pleasure from it, like you and the rest of your _kind_ do.But…when people are capable of that level of evil…it has to be something greater.It’s an ideal, a religious-like devotion to something greater than themselves.Take Travis, for example, he thinks he’s either a hero, or an outcast…or he actually _wants_ to be hurt. 

There’s a _tiny_ middle area, that he usually steps right over.He _believes_ in what he does, and so he does it with full force.You heard him, he’d love nothing more than to see you bow, grovel, _beg on your knees_ apologizing, or be ripped apart…but I stopped him.The Geneva Convention and all that.And, we can’t always get what we want, right?” Christina sighed.“Bummer.”

“What the fuck are you rambling about?”The longer she was drawing out this conversation, the more antsy he was becoming.

She ignored him: “I’m kind of jealous of that, I admit.”She leaned with her arms on her knees.“He doesn’t even know what he is, he only knows that he has to act on it.Me and you…we know what we are.We can only have self-hatred,” her eyes drooped and her voice wobbled, “or we go on with only one mood: contentment.Because um, because we can’t feel anything el _se_ -”She had to clear her throat.

“I was accused of crimes too.The difference of course, is that I did NOT do it.But I can understand why I was framed—they saw I had issues with my feelings.It would be reasonable to think that I have no conscience, or care.They believed they were in the right, too; I can admire that.That didn’t stop my anger, my wish for them to just…stop existing.The thing is…I didn’t do it, and I called them out on their stupid accusations. 

It’s just that, when I saw her in that tremendous amount of pain, when I heard her scream, and when I saw that her hopes had…stopped existing…I, I felt something.At first I thought it was my own denial, or regret.But…it felt, _good…_ to some degree _._ ”

“Listen, Christine, please just, get me out of-”

“So I feel jealous of Travis, and even those wackjob executioners.I’m just floating here in space, trying to reach out.I wanted to feel successful too, I wanted to feel like _I’m_ the winner, or even the hero! But those things don’t make me feel anything…”

Her face got closer to his.“How did you become such a monster?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not a monster.”

“Most would say that you are.I would definitely say that you are.”

“There’s no such thing as monsters.Everyone’s capable of this shit, they just won’t admit it.”

“But why did _you_ do it?”

“I don’t know.See, you’re gonna have to kill me, then-”

“How did it make you feel?”

“I felt nothing.It’s not for the money, or for the kicks.I ch-chose to do it.”

“What about your daughter?”

“Excuse me…?”

“Don’t you have a daughter? You whispered something about her after Travis, you know…”

She walked over to a framed picture on the counter, with a girl kissing her father on the cheek.

“Aw, is this her? She’s so pretty.”

He tried to lunge to the photo, and Christina pulled it back.“Ah ah ah!”

“Don’t you fuckers dare go after her.P-Promise me, you won’t.”

“We won’t.But you may have.”

“What-”

“If you’ve hurt other little girls, you probably started with her…you can tell me if I’m wrong.

Did you try to offer her up at any time, for your own, or others’ benefit?The poor thing had to live with you…I can’t even imagine.”

“What a disgusting thing to say!”

“The irony.Holy crow.”

“Get my daughter out of your fucking mouth.”

“I apologize, Bart.That did sound a bit sick, and I can say sick things.I have to ask, though—I have a job here.Hey, at least you’re not with Travis…who I promise will not boil you alive as long as I’m around.He can be a nosy little bitch.

As I was saying, it starts at home, going by statistics.Did she ever go through counseling?”

Barton spat.“…yes, she did.” He sighed.He wasn’t getting out of here, was he? “Eventually.”

“Then were you lying to me?”

“What?”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.I told you to shut up.”

“Are you lying to yourself? Try to remember.”

“I didn’t, ok, I never…”

“I heard you say it, and you don’t even remember.”

“What the—I never said-”

“Lying and playing the victim isn’t going to help you.Now, did you or did you not touch her?”

“I CAN’T REMEMBER,” for the first time that day, he actually showed some real emotion.

She patted his shoulder.“I’m not going to allow Travis to hurt you, I promise…and neither will I.”

He heaved and sputtered.

She smiled warmly.“You’re welcome, Bart.”

“One thing I do wonder….wouldn’t having a child, wouldn’t that be a burden? I mean, she or he would be the prime target for…more powerful clients, should you end up disposable,” she grinned, “like trash.”

“They would never, I wouldn’t let… _never_.”

She nodded.“Although, you are disposable…the world does not need you.I don’t need you.You remind me of so many I meet, HATEFUL.”She crept to where she was now at his side, inches to his face.He could hear her heavy breathing.

“I keep trying to walk upright,” her whispers sounded sad, “and I’ll trip right over my own two feet, literally.I want,” she picked her lip after four minutes, and he started getting upset again.“I want to feel like myself…but instead I often feel like I’m someone else…I’m in another body.And it’s because of the choices I made.”

She nodded again.“Choices.Probability, it isn’t everything I guess.Like in gambling….the choices I made.”

“I made several choices,” Barton’s face was weary, yet angry.

“Sure you did.And why did you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Why?”

“Why? I don’t…because…”

“Say it.”

“No I, f-fuck off.”

“ _Say it_ ,” she snarled.

“Because.It—made me feel something.”

“That’s called sadism.You’re a sadist.That was actually obvious to me even before you talked, since I can recognize one of my own.”He looked at her.“I bet it’s not the real drive for your monstrous actions, it’s not big enough.I think you really don’t know, but I got you to give me a reason, at least.”

“But you still don’t got any names…so I win,” he grinned with menace.

“Yeah, Travis won’t be too happy.But I’m practicing today, and you did…help me.We learnedthat you’re not someone like him, and I’m not either.I used to pray that I could be like someone else…and I can’t.It pains me to even try.Maybe it’s the same with you. 

But you hurt children—so you _are_ disposable.You made your gamble, and when I come close to you, I actually do feel.I feel _hate_.The very fact that I have to breathe the same air as you, and even stand in the same space that you do, are personal offenses to me.

You’re not a winner.Winning is an art.I thought I could give it a try, but I’m still not there yet.I’m not first, but I am trying.I’m not the hero, I’m not the criminal, and I’m not the gambler.”She stared at him.“I want to be the voice of doubt in every person’s head that drives them to succeed.”

Barton started laughing, and she was confused.“You really are a special snowflake, aren’t you? Think you’re the smartest fucking p-person in every room, with that nonsense.You’re nothing.You’re even lower than I am.You’ll say one thing, and t-then the next minute follow around skeleton boy over there like a lost puppy.At least I have the cleverness to form better connections….and even known as the kid killer or whatever you brand me as, I’ll go out in fucking flames.Y-You’re a pathetic, forgotten loser, who has to piggyback off others.”

Christina was now unnerved herself.She appeared to be quite insulted at first, then she licked her lips.He was bothered enough to actually _miss_ Travis.

And those feelings were gratified.

She stood up, and cracked her back.“Trav.Come in here.”

“W-w-wait, you said you’d protect me.” He tried to move out of the ropes again. 

She was pulling his leg, apparently.She hated him.

Travis stormed in:“Is something wrong?”

“I think you were right, about justice.”She shyly rubbed her arm, and gave him a cue.

Travis grabbed the duffel bag.He seared down at Barton like a devil inside of him was about to be exorcised, and he craved the relief.

Barton gave one last pleading look to Christina.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you anymore.”

The monotone in which she said it would later, in the car, remind Travis of HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey.It was a theater replay he couldn’t watch until after the war, in his early lone wanderer days in New York.He had a good ability to remember movie lines.

_“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to need some serious suspension of disbelief for this chapter, because Travis definitely should've ended up arrested lol. I'm kind of keeping in line how he's been getting away with everything since the shootout, where he also could have been arrested, and also keeps refusing to die for some reason. Teflon-Travis, ladies and gentlemen.


	27. Real Clean, Like My Conscience

While Christina spoke to Barton, Travis sat in the main room patiently…as patiently as he could in the allotted time.He eventually checked a connecting bathroom, where a large camera on its legs could be seen.

Travis stepped back, grabbing his gun, then further inspected the room.Many cameras were in that bathroom.They ranged from simple family vacation types of cameras to the big movie kinds.Obviously they were used to film, as a light stand was beside the cameras.

A now more disturbed Travis was cautious de-cocking his gun, re-checking it, and sitting back down.He was sure to practice dry-fire, and assure that this gun was cleaned and well-heated.

It was not much longer when he heard the air vent turn on.There was a strange rattling coming from the air duct as movement pushed whatever was in it—it sounded almost like pebbles.Dust puffed out, and Travis smelled something _very_ off.

The continued rattling was enough to make Travis stand up and try to look and feel into the vent through its cracks.It would be no use until he could unbolt it.It was new, so it shouldn’t be that hard, he figured.

Travis could barely hear what was being said in the kitchen, so he hoped Christina would tell him later.He sat with his gun until he heard her call for him.He immediately hustled himself out.

——————————————

Barton was prepared for whatever Travis was about to do to him, and hopelessness pervaded before any fear of pain, humiliation, and what would await him after death.

Travis, a natural predator who had finally stepped back into the zone he was most suited for other than driving (some thanks to soldiering), walked towards Barton with the readiness of a spring-load.

He leaned, and grabbed Barton by his face again.Travis was staring not only _at_ him, but _into_ him.Barton had a hateful stare in return.Suddenly, Travis started to blink quickly, and his hands were removed.

Travis looked disgusted.Barton couldn’t tell if it was with him, with himself, or both.

Travis was so bothered that he had to walk away from Barton.

“This was a bad decision.A bad, bad decision.I’m so sorry.”

Christina moved her head: “For what?”

“For bringing you, and exposing you to all this.”

“I wanted to come and to help.”

“I’m sure your hopes didn’t involve this amount of intense, heavy shit though.I simply wanted to see where he lived.I don’t even know what the fuck we’re doing now.And not only did you have to listen to his awful past, but you have to watch _this_ too…this is out of control.”

“I’m not that fragile.”

Travis leaned onto the counter, arms crossed and head down.“I’m a horrible influence…please, don’t do what I do.”

“I’m doing what I do.Believe it or not, I actually have my own personality and my reasons.This is a complete clusterfuck of a situation, yeah, but it’s been done, and we will deal with the blowback later.We have to end it first.”

“I don’t wanna be giving you problems because of my own fucked problems.”Which is what basically happened with he and Iris.

“Oh, I am going to carry around some baggage after this.But forget it, we’re not perfect, let’s finish the job.”

“How about this: next time I go off, you let me know, no matter what.If you think I’m leading you somewhere you don’t want to go, tell me.Don’t encourage me.You would’ve been fine to leave after the police conversation, which is what you came for, right?All I wanted was to be normal again, I thought saving Iris would be the cure….and I keep falling into the same trap, over and over.I want to feel like I’m doin something good, to make me feel like I’m not just a spinning top, but…this isn’t war, maybe that isn’t my duty.Just tell me next time, will ya?”

“Wow, you’re actually self-reflecting.”

He tightened his arms.

“Ok, ok.I hear you, and I’ll try.”

She hoped he wouldn’t mind if she offered another piece to the table they were trying to maintain in order: “And—you should get out of this nasty rut.You need more time to heal, Travis.Stop flinging yourself into the eye of the hurricane, and maybe you can finally see who you really are.”

He was briefly lost in thought, watching Barton.She thought he was going to buck her on it, but he agreed: “That sounds solid.I guess I’ll be trying too.”

The currently loopier Barton was starting to hum and moan, and he tried to move as his arms were in pain from cut off circulation.

“What did you do to him?” asked Travis.

“I talked to him.I tried to say various things to cause an emotional reaction, or at least make him trust me.We have to try and study these people for prevention, I’m sure.I uh, I only got so far.”Though, in all honesty, she wouldn’t mind if that study involved vivisection, live or not.

“You do know I have to kill him.”

Her mouth and eyes narrowed: that was _blatantly_ obvious from the beginning.“I…am very aware.”

“What happens after that, I’m not sure yet.But you can look away or go outside.Or if you think you have it in you, you can watch.It’s your decision.”

She didn’t answer, so Travis distracted himself by taking out a crowbar and pliers from the bag.He bent his knuckles, and then pulled off his belt to wrap around them.

“You have a bad vent,” Travis causally told Barton.“If you want, I can try to fix it.I already have most of my tools with me.If you want.”

Barton didn’t answer either.

“It’s really no big deal…I want to.Hey, Christina, go in that bag and get out the bottle of pure alcohol.”

“The ex-alcoholics’s already hitting the bottle.Right on.”

“I need some way to placate myself.Pass me it.”Travis took one swig, scrunching his face, and then spat the rest onto some of his fingers to his small head cut.He placed it on the counter that Christina was leaning on with her arms crossed behind her back.

Travis felt his smooth weapon on the counter.“Later it’ll be your turn.”

“I want to be a sniper,” Christina said as she pretended to reload and shoot an air rifle.

Barton felt more painful shocks—he had been beaten, mostly by Travis, who had used his fists, a crowbar, and his belt—the belt not unlike what Travis’s own father would do to him for punishment.Oddly enough, the hits were never at the point of severe damage, like Travis was holding back and did not wish to leave lots of marks on his captive.

But then Christina, who could before only watch with nothing she could do about it, decided to join in.She stomped on Barton’s feet, and when he had insulted her and her teeth, she hit him.Travis started hitting again, and a punch ended up with a few of Barton’s own teeth loose.He wailed. 

Christina took the opportunity.She kindly said she would “help relieve him of the pain” and yanked them out with her bare hands.In the process, she cut into his gums with a knife, stabbing at his nerve endings.

He actually screamed when that happened, and Travis had to slap him to shut him up.

Yet, afterwards, they didn’t touch him.They did what they wanted.Barton had a bruised eye and a missing tooth.

An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.The symbolism pleased Travis.They were done.

Travis grabbed the alcohol and a rag, and proceeded to care for the blood on Barton’s face.He administered more as well as pain medication in attempts to keep Barton conscious enough to speak.Barton refused to talk, but did accept the tonics. 

He saw that behind Travis’s back, Christina was sitting in a table chair—turned backwards.At his every moan, and every thing Travis gave, Barton was watching her mouth move like a twisted coil.Gradually it became more like a smile, and she was staring directly at him.Then her eyes set back onto Travis, with a real smile.Perhaps, the slight hint of eroticism.He didn’t know what had made her mood change, but it gave him more discomfort than what Travis was suggesting.

He dozed off.

Travis and Christina moved a piece of furniture from the main room in order to lift up the heavy, large Persian carpet together.They tried their hardest to remain unseen on the streets, taking more hidden routes.

They carried it all the way back to the car, where the body was carefully wrapped in its new woolen shell.Travis lifted the end of the heavy bundle onto his shoulder, and watched Christina strain and then lift the other end onto her own.

“You’re strong,” he said with a tired smile as they carefully walked down the same back routes.Their eyes were checking the environment constantly.If they saw someone, they hid into an alley.

“It’s a natural gift.” She laughed in between heavy breathing.

Inside, their gloved hands placed the body in the living room. 

Travis observed their handiwork.“Not a boring day, right?”

“Could’ve used a little more dead hookers, but.”

“I should just let these crack bastards of the night have their ways….let em get into their own trouble, and then…let nature have _its_ way.I’m fine with that.”

He looked at the Kama Sutra poster.“But I suppose I also wouldn’t be helpin anyone.”

“It’s not your job.”

Christina thought about taking Barton’s teeth, jumbling them, blowing on them, and throwing them like lucky dice.After they’d been cleaned and bleached, that is.Too morbid, perhaps, disrespectful to the dead—but an interesting thought, nonetheless.

“I’m gonna go fish out what was in that vent…I think I’ll see in it better if I go up to the lounge, and try to access the top vent from that room,” Travis said.

“I’ll come with you.If I have to hear his fucking mouth-breathing for another minute…”

The lounge was more like an attic with no windows.It was made of wood, with only one musky scent able to float in the stale, contained air.It was mostly covered with boxes.The boxes were filled with large pieces of innocent to only _suspicious_ equipment.There were a few empty spots, as well as silver air ducts, cobwebs, objects—including a candle-holder and a painting—thrown on the ground.

There was also no heating.Heating and air conditioning in homes was still somewhat new, but this enclosed little space was colder than the outside itself.

Travis walked up the steps, cautious even with his boots not to step on a piece of broken glass, which he also warned Christina of.

He looked around the lounge, going into the side that was concealed in shadow.He noticed the ventilation system on the other side.He pulled out a tool or two from his inner jacket pocket.He put the screwdriver in his mouth as he grabbed onto the vent, and tossed the wrench onto the ground.

“That was…an experience.Did you see how he was flopping around?” Christina made jerking movements.“Like an epileptic on Soul Train after a bag of shrooms.”

“Hand me that wrench,” Travis ordered with his stifled teeth.

She scanned the floor, and asked, “What wrench?” Travis pointed.

“That wrench, right there…behind you…no, to the left.Yes, that one. Get it.”

“Oh.” She sprung to it, then threw it to him in what resembled more of a ball pass.

He spotted grease on it from some fluid in the bag.“Uh, can you wipe it off first?”

She shot him a dirty look.

“Sorry, huh.You did what I told you, but please do more.”

She roughly wiped it on her jeans.“Be more specific.”

He used the wrench with much strength to unbolt the vent opening.It was arduous, and it dented into his hand, but he succeeded in opening most of the vent for access.

He tried to reach his arm into the opening, but he couldn’t reach far enough to grab whatever was caught in the ducts.A gust came through: the smell was even worse this time. 

He leaned in farther, while at the same time trying to balance himself on the brown trunk he was standing on.After many tries, he gazed up into it.

“Christina, let’s see if we can get you up there.”

"Up there? Implying that I’ll fit?”

“You’re the smaller of us, shrimp.I’ll give you a boost, so you can step on me and try to crawl farther in.”

Christina wasn’t going to pass up the chance to step on Travis, so she placed her foot on Travis’s folded hands and outstretched arms, lifting herself up.

She gripped onto the edge of the opening that cut into her hand.Travis lifted her higher and she grabbed onto another ledge.She wobbled a little, meaning Travis wobbled too.

She inched her body upwards until she smelled a powerful—yet musty—old scent.She reached around, trying to ignore the dust clumps, mold, and spider web on her fingers.Stretching her arm, she felt something dry.But definitely solid.

“Do you see anything?”

“What exactly am I supposed to be seeing? Because I’m only copping a feel on what feels like hard, moldy bread right now—I _can’t_ see it, get what I’m saying?”

“Try to pull it down.”

She heaved at it.Travis teetered and she hit her arm on the side of the duct.She pulled hard again until it finally tumbled out.

Travis let her down before she did too.He flapped his hands.

They looked over to see what this dusty and mysterious object was.

The first thing that could be recognized were bones.Bones and the little bit of skin still on some parts, partially mummified.There were a few plaits of long, wavy hair on the skull.There were also patches of what used to be a dress.It was a petite form, and the tiny fingers left were holding onto a moth-bitten small book.A prayer book.

Christina coughed, and turned her hunching back to the remains.

Travis slowly sunk to the floor, and with a degree of uncertainty he touched the hair, cloth, and book.It wasn’t rubber, it was human.“She died years ago, I’d say,” he gauged after some time.“Definitely young.”

There was a lengthy silence in that cold room; only the stronger air gusts made noise, free of its “blockage.”Travis inspected the skin left, and saw evidence of damage to the body…likely during life.He hung onto a wooden banister as he stood back up.He took out his gun.

And he reloaded it.

“I hope Barton is ready for his corpse to be next.”

Christina finally turned back around.She was shaking her head.

“Stay with her.I’ll be back.”

“Travis, hold on.The police could be down there with him at this very moment, for all we know.If you kill him…” 

“I’ve never been scared of bein a martyr.He might have some more torture to learn, it seems.”

“She’s gone, Trav.The girl is dead.She doesn’t need you to take revenge for her…she’s fucking gone.Her pain is gone, her suffering is gone, and that’s all that would matter to her, and should matter to us…not more torture, like she didn’t have that already before.We can at least wrap her up, then we can face him.You’ve already taken revenge for all the lives he stole, why add another to the list? To waste more of our time? Kill him, sure, but after we’re done.After we know we’re safe.”

“What do you know about what she went through? Don’t speak for the dead.What matters to me is that she was clearly innocent, and this is what happens.”

“That may not always have been the case, if she lived longer.The brain, like any smart machine, can easily go ‘busted’ after even one wire’s been cut.When a young person…when it happens to them, they can feel helpless…empty.The only thing left to reach out to, since no one _older_ can clearly help, is the quick, satisfying…damn, I guess just self-destruction: drugs, alcohol, sex, recklessness, self-hatred.It’s the rush to tear it all down.Why do sex cults always involve the same color patterns? The same kind of addiction, but to symbolism and power?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“I don’t know.But my point is that we have to consider all the people and factors at work here.”She met his eye.“It’s not all about you.”

Travis glowered, his voice low.“And what about you?”

She adjusted her glasses and looked around.Her own voice was quiet.“Not-not about me, either.”

“That means the world without a fuck about any of us keeps on going.” He picked up a tool on the floor.“Let me just make it go a bit faster.”

“So what, we should bring her back from the dead? We’d need a current, hyper-fast electrons, and positive or negative charges if we’re to use a metal, a la the bolts in that vent.”

“Some Dr. Frankenstein shit…no.Let’s kill him and get this over with.”

They walked down to the closed door.Travis opened it—or tried to.It wasn’t budging. 

He pulled on it hard, but the door refused to move.He hit it with his shoulder…nothing.

Fifteen minutes later and an attempt with a credit card, Travis sat in a corner of the lounge with his arms crossed.Christina sat beside him, leaning on her hand.She didn’t look at him once. 

Travis was about to say something, but knew he would only make it worse.He scraped black smudges off of his fingers in the tension.“I didn’t know it would jam,” he finally said.He barely heard Barton warning him about it when he left for the lounge.It was locked on both sides, so even Barton couldn’t get up there if need be.There was evidence.

Travis continued to speak on the events of the day, while Christina took off her shoe to rub her still-healing toe that had been rubbing against it for hours. 

She picked at a chip until it suddenly broke—the top half of the toenail broke off.Panicked, she tugged at it until it _ripped_ off.With a sharp inhale Christina’s usually thin, squinty eyes went as big as saucers.

“You know what I’m talkin about?” Travis asked.

“Yep…yep.” She hurried her sock and shoe back on.

“Come on, we gotta see if it’ll open this time round.”

Christina wasn’t quite ready to place more pressure on her toe.“Hold those horses.”

“Come on now.”

“I’m tired…maybe we could rest a few minutes first.”

She ended up getting her way because Travis still could not open the door on his own.“I once locked out a passenger from my taxi.They struggled with the door while I told em what to do, sipping on my coffee meanwhile…I said it was an accident.”

“That’s actually hilarious…but I’m too tired to laugh.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Do you know any songs to pass the time…like anything by Heart, or Kansas?”

“I’m not a musical person, but I know this one: ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day.To save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray, oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy! Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”

“That’s good.”

Travis shrugged and returned to his other thoughts.

Christina eventually talked again after the bolts and electricity reminded her of something.“Just so you know, I met and spoke with Doughboy this last November.We got along quite well, and I think we had this… _powerful_ chemistry…the electrical form of it.We’re both Southerners, I can tell by his accent.Basically, I think we’d be good together, so with my own blessing I grant my right to pursue him.”

Travis swiftly turned to her.“He’s a married man, with a kid.Best stay away from him.Home-wrecker.”

“He is?” Christina was very disappointed.“Well, doughy-prick flirted with me though…”

“There’s no fucking point in relationships, know that.”

Another gust of cold air came through, and Travis pulled up his jacket collar.He saw Christina shiver, because apparently her buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt and the v-neck sleeveless sweater over it, were not fully adequate.She should’ve brought a jacket.

“I could warm you up with my arms,” Travis suggested.

“Uh, no.”

“Why not…I’m just looking out for your well-being, you know.”

“The laws in Leviticus specifically laid out that we should not touch those who are unclean.I also shouldn’t be touching these bodies.According to biblical law, at least.”

“Since when do you care about ‘biblical law?’ You a Jew?”

“Just now.”

“Scoot over.”

“I said I don’t want to, bucko.Get off me.”

“We have to do things we don’t want to all the damn time, that’s fuckin’ life.You’ll die over there.”

“If it’s my time, then it’s my time.”

“I promise I’m not that dirty; I took a shower like, three days ago.”

But she refused.She preferred to bring up a random image:

“Can you imagine how scary the night of the Titanic sinking was? No stars, no moon, freezing waters.”

“Horrible.”

“It was actually predicted in the book _The Wreck of the Titan, Or Futility_.Many deaths and catastrophes could be…or could have been.”

“Yeah, like, conditioning.”The word “conditioning” made her warm her hands. 

She changed the subject: “Icebergs are kind of reverse mountains.That’s interesting.Can there be a chain of icebergs?”

“I think space is interesting.I wish I could explore space on my own without dying.Just me seeing everything there is to see…until I get sucked into a black hole and…well, that thing where you become pasta-like,” Travis replied.“We should explore more of space.What does space, and space objects, the universe sound like? The moon, stars, planets?…Ech, listen to me…I sound like a square.”

“I’d rather hear ocean sounds,” Christina said.“The ocean scares me far more than space.There’s probably no bottom.”

“Amazing, all these things in existence.And people try to tell me they evolved.” Christina looked at him.

“When I was young I was raised a Reformed Christian.”

“It’s alright, we would go to a Pentecostal church.I was bathed in being filled in the Spirit, calling out devils, and speaking in tongues in the ‘name of Jesus.’” She flailed her hands as if in worship and had a pastor’s voice.

Travis stuck to his topic: “I would love to drop people from space.It’d be funny, but it also could be our new form of execution.We just drop the evil undesirables from space and let them burn up in the atmosphere.All those who have nothing good to contribute, and only destroy.”

“Should we be dropped too?”

Travis didn’t answer that.

“Have you ever heard of the Dyatlov Pass Incident?” Christina asked him. “We may never be found, but something might force us to claw our way out to our death.What about the Donner Party? We might start eating each other.Either way, we…we freeze.”

“Cannibalism. Huh. Somehow I get the feeling you would make the better meal.”He got up to remove the vent one more time, to see if it could be a means of escape.Another edge clanged when he moved the corner, hitting his forehead.Christina snickered.

Travis glared at her like an annoyed brother does to his sister.

“Sorry, it’s just—(snicker)—it’s just your skull is so literally thick, that it’s actually keeping me entertained.Thank you.”

“Well I’m waiting for your Nobel Prize-winning plan.I’m all ears.”

They thought and schemed, trying to come up with any possible ideas.But this lounge was well-secured.They both were drowsy, so Travis decided they could sleep for a set, short time.Christina slept first.He actually allowed her to wear his jacket for warmth….although only while she lied down. 

She looked admiringly at the King Kong patch.This jacket had seen _a lot._ She curled up and used an old scarf from a box as a pillow.

Travis teased: “Don’t let the bed bugs bite…I’m guessing there must be a million of em crawlin up here.”

Christina just closed her eyes and tried to block out him and everything else.

Travis’s anxiety had revisited.They had to get out of here, or he would start shooting holes into the floor if he had to.Good luck to anyone underneath.He checked his watch and nudged Christina with his foot.“Wake up.”

However, like the doorframe, she wouldn’t move.He tried to shake her gently, but she wasn’t responding.Her face was more towards the floor, and she was on her stomach.He shook her harder.About that anxiety…

She turned over on her back, asleep—but alive.This was a rough, splintered, cold floor.Travis didn’t think he saw even soldiers with nothing but their helmet and extreme weather sleep this hard.He wriggled her ear.

He leaned his head right over hers, extremely close to her face; much like he did to the solider he bunked with in basic training that night.

She opened her eyes to see another face in front of her face. “Good morning beautiful,” Travis whispered.

Christina lunged backwards, crawling into the deceased.She lunged from that as well, accidentally kicking Travis in the knee in the process.She steadied as she rubbed her eyes.“What the _hell_ man.”

“You slept for about 40 minutes.We have to haul out.”

“That almost took the soul out of my body.”

“Well you’re gonna have to make your decision, before I leave you down here.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Go ahead and take that jacket off.”He put it on.

They both hit the door at the same time.Travis pulled, Christina clutched onto his back pulling him, and then vice versa.They picked up a dresser and rammed the door.Travis used a knife at the lock.Finally, Christina pushed it with her back as Travis pulled on the lock so violently, it popped off, and the door popped open.They had little time to celebrate: they rushed back downstairs. 

No one was there except for Barton, asleep.Travis sighed and ran his hand down his face.He had an idea. 

When he told Christina, he knew the sheer weight of what he was saying, or at least he tried to know. The only true way out of this was to take the heaviest blows himself. 

Christina didn’t know how to respond, except for: “I’ll be arrested too.”She had every right to fear going back to prison for much longer than over a year, but something was especially grave in this claim.Travis didn’t know if she was beaten by inmate and guard alike, intentionally neglected due to the nature of her false crimes, or violated by the big girls.She may have been perfectly fine for all he knew, but her tone when it came to imprisonment was quite grim.

“No ma’am, you won’t be arrested—I’ll make sure of it.I promise.”He told her every detail, an outcome, and his advice. 

“You’ve been great support to me…thanks for everything. _Everything_ we did.”He rearranged the tools and the car before he left.

Christina swallowed, her throat dry.

——————————————

Everything they came for was mostly done by the time Travis left for the brothel.

Travis knew what was about to happen.He’d left the eyesight of the police when they told him to stick around.And since he had given up the name, they were sure to find Barton soon anyway.

He had to say a final goodbye to Christina, who was going to remain there to make one last round before she herself left in a taxi.She needed to return before her apartment was torn apart by any snooping cops.She was unhappy to see him go out like this, but she at least respected that he was owning up to his own insane actions.

The moment Travis stepped out of his car in front of the brothel, he was confronted by a police officer: “Put your hands up! Now!”

Travis was unbothered as he was handcuffed, and his car was searched. 

They only found a penny and a candy bar wrapper.

“I used to carry a gun in the glovebox,” Travis told in a monotone.

“You mean you carried an _illegal_ firearm? Care to tell me why?”

“Because I felt like buying it.”

The cop hit him.Travis blinked and shook his head, but his reaction wasn’t as satisfying as the police officer would have liked.

“Who’d you buy it from, scumbag?”

“An arms dealer.”

“HIS NAME?”

Another cop jogged over and interrupted: “Russo! What the hell are you doin?”

“Mr. Bickle here tucked tail and ran, after we gave the fuckin ORDERS to stay.Scumbag said he once bought a gun…telling stories to me.”

The other cop called for backup, and Travis soon saw officers Nolte and Luffey again.Ah, his dear friends.

“Bickle?” Nolte came over to him. “I’m _sure_ you can tell by now, but you’re under temporary arrest for the suspected murder of Alfred Fields.You didn’t really think you would get away just like,” Nolte snapped, “-that! Did you?” He laughed and poked Travis in the ear.

Luffey didn’t look at him, and Russo was a lot more aggressive: “You killed a man of the law in cold blood, and hid the body….do you know how fucked up you are? Do you know how fucked up _we_ are gonna make your sorry ass?Put your goddamn head down.You’re going to the station.” 

“Can I be read my rights ag-"

The car door slammed and Travis was content.After what felt like an hour, he was driven to the station.There, he was kept in custody until it was time for further questioning.

—————————————

Christina made sure everything was left in its correct manner.

Barton was secure.The two guns were packed away.She made sure not to leave prints, as best as she could.Travis was screwed—but _she_ could at least try to finish what they started in relative peace.

_“The first thing that comes through that door…I shoot.”_

Travis’s words stayed with Christina.She had a short time with him before he left her like this.Before he decided his own fate on a whim, and gave her the last instructions in their mutual survival. 

She wasn’t a sentimental kind of person, but she was beginning to feel the enormous gravity of what was happening.When events happen in such quick succession, you lose the hours and energy to focus on one crisis and emotional gridlock at a time.

“W-why am I here?” Barton mumbled.

Christina certainly didn’t hear anything. 

“Whyyy, why?”

“That’s a good question,” she tittered, studying the pattern of the cracked wall.“Why am I here?”

“I-I’m still alive?”

Christina slowly surveyed the bearded man next.

“Gimme s-some more of that…whateva you had, with some coke, too, please….I need, need it.I’m reaching a high I don’t wanna come down off of.”

“I would imagine it _would_ be a cerebral experience, but I wouldn’t allow any more impulses to cloud your judgments, if I were you.Especially this close to death.What would your Maker say?”

“D-death?”

“De-Death!” Christina mocked him.“Yeah.Travis’ll be back in aaaabooouutt.…” She glanced at her pretend watch.

“He wants to kill me!” He shouted it with delirium as if he were only now realizing this fact.

Christina raised her eyebrows, leaned forward, and looked at Barton with the movement of a hawk’s head: “But that’s illegal!”

—————————————

Travis was exhausted…but he woke right up when the back of his head was slammed into the wall.

Officer Russo had grabbed his collar and pinned him, in quite a _somewhat_ justified fit of anger.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time, and you’re gonna answer me in a full sentence….why did you kill Officer Fields?”

“Let’s say I did kill him.If, if he turned out not to be the guy you all said he was, wouldn’t I have done you, and the world at-at large, a favor?”

That’s when Travis met the wall at full force.He couldn’t answer the next question because he saw a light flash in his eyes for a brief second.

Another officer came into the hallway.Russo dropped him, acting like he had not touched Travis, but Travis had instead put up a fight.

“We need to hold him in the next room, so bring him in.Elmers wants to talk to him.”

“Will he be arrested, and for how long?” Russo thought he needed to be beaten more severely.

“None can say for sure right now, but he’ll probably stay in a cell otherwise.Bring him in.”

Travis was brought into a room with a trashcan, a window, and a desk with many papers and a telephone.There was a dignified man sitting at the desk, with his hands folded.The two cops guarded the door and watched the suspect with his every move.

“Evening, gentlemen.Hello Travis.” He had a voice that was kind yet commanding.

“Hello.”

“I’m Sergeant Josiah Elmers, of the New York City Police Department.” Now Travis recognized him.He was one of the cops who greeted him in the hospital after he woke from a coma.He also happened to be the same Josiah who talked to Betsy about the Palantine case, and the father of Shawn Elmers—Adam’s best friend and classmate.His badge was detailed.

“Are you a chief?”

“No, but I want to be, sooner or later.Now Travis, you know why you were brought in, correct?”

“I murdered a police officer, as they told me and kept on tellin me.”

“And I should hope you also know how serious of a crime that is to be charged with.In fact…”

Elmers sipped on a drink.

“…it’s a capital offense of this country; a capital felony.It would be punishable by life imprisonment or the death penalty.Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Travis nodded.

“Tell me you hear what I’m saying.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Thank you.Whether you’re as _diabolical_ as everyone is currently saying you are, I can’t judgejust yet.We don’t have an official charge for you, approved by a court of law.Things are still under investigation, and we believe that you are likely the killer due to mounting evidence against you; not to mention a witness report.You will be detained in our custody for the time being due to the harsh charge, but we can’t hold you for too long without a court grant.If you confess _and_ we find physical evidence, you will be arrested and put into federal prison without parole, or solitary confinement.You may be put to death.“

Travis would have preferred solitary confinement or death.Those were most familiar and comfortable to his own life, everyday and for years past.Prison among others was the only option that made his heart quicken.

“Can I contact my lawyer?”

“Yes, and you also have the right to call a family member.”

Elmers then reviewed his rights, which Travis was soon to have memorized. 

“What about this,” Elmers looked through a written report from Luffey, “this Valdez individual, who you brought in to testify for you? Why don’t you make it a little easier on me and describe some more about her to us, so that we can see about getting a search warrant for her apartment.”

Travis, for the first time that night, looked angry.“She had nothing to do with this.”

“Pardon me _Travis_ , but you don’t have a say in the matter.”

The lengthy discussion ended with Elmers scribbling notes, and he called the sheriff.He called another department, then advised Travis to confess soon.

“I’m also going to have to seriously review Luffey and Nolte.Why on earth they didn’t take you in earlier, or even the day after it happened…I thought they knew better.”Elmers shook his head and sighed.“Poor Fields, and his poor wife…”

But Elmers appeared to have the most disappointment in Travis.He looked into the cab driver’s dark eyes, and flared his nostrils.It was like a power reversal, and Travis was now the scum.That, and the disappointment, hurt him more than the threat of death.

“I had high hopes for you, Bickle.We all did.That little girl you saved has to live with that and what you’ve done, and continue to do, for the rest of her life.”

Travis’s anger burned again.He was taken out by the two cops from earlier, and placed into a one-person cell for the moment.Or many moments.

——————————————

Christina was forced to sit with evil incarnate until it was time to “bolt.”She had to command herself.

She was taken off her A-Game after the lounge issue, then Travis heading into another issue, and really _after_ having the chance to think about the _whole day_.She found herself back to square one with a new strategy.

Strategies fell into place so much better in sports or chess, she thought, not whatever this was.

“Where’d my buddy Travis go?” Barton taunted.“He’s still not back…it’s been a g-good while, hasn’t it.Guess he,” Barton hiccuped, “he got lost, or killed, even. Karma.”

Christina started peeling off her thumbnail.“Or he got himself detained,” he added.

“Possibly,” she said.

“M-maybe he’ll spill the beans on y-you too…huh! You’re next on the chopping block.”

Christina picked deeper.

“He’s g-gonna betray you, right when you turn, when you turn your back, he’s gonna betray you a-and you’ll both take the fucking poison.A rat for a friend.At least you can grab a front row seat to watch hi-him fry.”

Christina smiled.

“You don’t believe me?Ooh, that’s no good.Don’t say I d-didn’t warn ya…”

However, her thoughts were indeed becoming less-controlled.A forest fire of every possible ending, especially the _bad_ endings, overpowered the other in a row.Why would Travis take her down with him? She’d been imprisoned before.She didn’t care to go back.

Several minutes passed.Several more painful minutes. 

_There it was._

“Damn…how did you know?”

“I have a great idea.”She stood up and walked over next to Barton.“When he comes back—and he will—I’m going to release you.How does that sound?”

“What? H-how did I know the…what?”

“I know he’s been planning to turn me in for a while now, actually…but he has no idea I know, and I’ve had problems trying to deal with it.I’ll release you, and you, Bart, will kill him for me.”

“You wanna kill your partner?”

“Well, I don’t want to.But you could.You can get rid of him and avenge yourself, and we both will be able to go on with our lives out of his control.”

Barton wheezed.

“Ah, never mind.It’s a fucking stupid idea…but dang it, I tried.”She slouched back into her chair.

Minutes passed.

“I’ll kill him,” Barton said suddenly.“And then I’ll kill you too.”

She couldn’t say that she didn’t see that coming.“You know what…do it.”

Barton blinked.

“Travis will spill.I’d rather die…” She shivered, “I’d rather die, then go back to what I was.I don’t have much of a life left here.If you have to…do it.”

“You’re s-some crazy-ass—”

Christina’s automatic was then pressed to his temple. 

“Don’t let me down, Bart,” she said quietly.

She pulled on a new pair of gloves from her pockets, and stepped into the main room where the phone was located.She stared and sighed, then rolled out the police station’s number to call.She tried to hold the phone with her palm.

They answered after one ring.They asked what her problem was.

Christina, a fair voice impressionist, gave her voice a high-pitched, female cadence: “I want to report w-what I think is a possible crime committed, but I’d like to remain anonymous.”She cringed, at both what she said and how she sounded.

There was a short silence, and Christina thought out the flaming endings again.

“Let me transfer you to our tip line.”

Another person told her to detail what she witnessed—they would not investigate who she was unless given cause to.She put on a frantic tone.

“I-I heard, a, a shooting, in one of my neighbor’s apartments, uh, two weeks ago…and I heard, a scream as well, two…one week ago.He’s a very…odd person, and I saw him dragging this big carpet into his apartment.It might have had something wrapped in it, I don’t know.”

“And you said two weeks, and one week ago…Can you tell us where he lives?”

She repeated the address.

“Thank you ma’am.We should send someone to search his apartment as early as we are able to.It may be a few days, or longer.”

“Was that, uh…another shot I heard?”

“Ma’am? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, please investigate.I don’t feel safe here.”

They hung up, and Christina felt a pit in her gut.She either just made the situation that much worse, or nothing would even happen.Even so, she had made the biggest gamble yet.

And even so, nobody came.Her time was wasting.

She walked around outside, going past each dark, empty window. 

She was most likely as screwed as Travis.But at least she had all this _bundle of excitement_ in NYC.

Then she noticed something—in the apartment across the street, the wide window showed a light was on in the kitchen.Barton said no one lived at his sides, but he didn’t mention the neighbors across from him. _Excellent._

She peeked through their curtain.All she could see was someone sitting down: a woman?

She thought on it, hastily removing a roach from her shoulder.She hurried back inside Barton’s place, and dragged the rolled up carpet in the hall into the doorframe, where it was used to prop open the front door.She snatched the fake skull he had on his dresser.

After checking to see no one was watching her, she threw the skull onto their door. 

A young man and a woman were eating a simple chicken dinner at their table.They were talking about all the problems with this new borough they moved into, and the woman’s “horrible” interactions with their foul neighbors.

“Always something with you,” her husband complained.He forked spinach into his mouth.

_Thud._

“Did you hear that?” The young lady turned her head. 

“No.Nothing.I’m tellin ya, you are so out of it today.”

“I swore I heard a knock on the door…and I am _not_ out of it!”

_Thud._

“There it is again! Nope, I can’t deal with that noise.”

“Honey, can we not just sit down and finish our dinner? They’ll go away.”

She reluctantly sat back down to continue eating. But there was another loud noise.

She looked at him with scared surprise: “That…that was a gunshot.”

Her husband seemed to be more worried than before, but he was stubborn. “It was far away.”

“That was pretty damn close!”

Christina had run over the carpet and into the kitchen.Though feeling the strain, she took a deep breath and pulled out the automatic.She shot a round above her—with her opposite ear covered.

“You’re messing up my ceiling,” Barton said.

She almost shot again, but she didn’t trust herself.

The young wife bit her nails.“Should we call the police?”

“At this hour? Come on.It was far away.”

“I’m at least gonna check.”

“Hey!”

But she had already opened the door, carefully.The husband raced over so he could grab her by the arm.

“This isn’t safe honey-”

“I don’t see anything, or anyone.Although-” She narrowed her eyes to the open door, not too far from her sight.The buildings were built very close together.“-someone’s bought a carpet.”

“That guy who’s always on ‘vacation?’ Jesus, this _is_ a shitty place to live.” 

“The door is just…open.Should we go over and see if he needs help?”

“Hell no! That gunshot probably came from _him_.You stay right here, understand?”

He looked at the door.“…I’ll go.”

“Darling!”

“I’m not going inside.I want to see if he’s in there….then we call the police.”

She tried to stop him.Out of spite he bravely charged into the outside.He lingered around the door, listening and watching.“Hey? This is your neighbor.Anybody home? Everything ok?”

He leaned to the side.He saw a clearly dead man’s hand draped across the rug.He sprinted back into their house like his life depended on it.

He locked the door.“Call the police!” The urgency made his wife whimper when she dialed the number.He took it from her and reported it to whoever would listen.

“Sir, calm down, we’re trying to help.Yes, I know, but-”

“ _But_ you need to get here right now…I mean _right now_.My wife is…she’s two months pregnant.We just moved here…I need to keep my family safe man.”

“Sir, we’ve already received a complaint from your area, if you could wait-”

The wife took back the phone.“I heard it! I heard the gunshot! Get your lazy asses…we need you guys.Who’s in charge at that station? Let me speak to him.”

“We’re sending a squad your way.”

—————————————

The anonymous call was reported to an officer, who sent a detail about it to Josiah Elmers.Elmers tucked the report away to be read tomorrow.

A female cop entered the room: “Sergeant Elmers? Bickle is ready for his confession.”

“Right when I’m ready to retire, of course.”Travis was brought in, with a more defeated look on his face—even then it was subtle.He also had what may have been a small bruise Elmers didn’t remember there before.

Acting legal witnesses came in, and Paul Keegan had arrived.A lady was prepared with a typewriter.

Travis was given a sheet of paper and a pen.He reached out with the handcuffs, gawking at words on a paper that fuzzed together in his concentration.Lines.The lines of the police windows, the lines of stark, black, small words on a sheet glaringly white.The lines of an exhausted conscience.He couldn’t see past the lines of burning eyes and a draining purpose.

“Travis, what’s your job?”

“I’m a taxi driver.”

“I know that, but we have to ask.When are your usual hours?”

“On most days it’s anywhere from 7 PM to 5 AM.”

“Those are long hours.”

“Yeah.I take breaks, ya know, for my spine and circulation.I also, every now and then, will take morning shifts…or from noon to about 6.”

“In the afternoon?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you know any of the other federal law organizations of this state? And are you aware the FBI may be invited into this case if we should conclude that they do?”

“No…on either of what you said.”

Elmers told him about particular state laws and ordinances, and the people that headed them.

“This can be a long, difficult process.You’ll be expected at court, of course.We’re not the only ones with criminal jurisdiction here.”

“I see, yeah.”

Elmers sipped.“I see,” Travis repeated with what he recognized as growing fear.He shoved it back down.

“Where did you live before Manhattan? What was your line of work and where before driving?”

Travis gave him the information.

“The type of car that you brought, that we searched, what model is it?”

“Toyota Celica.Japanese 1972 model.I bought her, uh, last year, on November 10.”

“Okay.Travis, we found a strange laceration in the trunk, possibly a modification?”

“It’s not a large trunk…I um, I need more space…”

Suddenly, an officer present came over and punched Travis in the face.The cop yanked his hair to pull him back up and face the paper.Elmers scolded the cop, but didn’t do anything else.He _was_ busy.

“Were you not on medication when you returned from Nam?”

“I was.Antidepressants, antipsychotics, and sleeping pills.I would just like gain weight, be angry, and have these fucking weird dreams and…bad ideas.Real bad.My sleeping schedule was all fucked up.Since I was stressed with or without meds, my head and neck would ache, my stomach hurt…I thought I had cancer or something.And, I tried to kill myself; I had to stop.”

“Do you have suicidal thoughts often?”

“No.”

“When was the last time?”

“1975.”

“What about, more violent thoughts? You have any of those?”

“What kind of violent thoughts?”

“Whatever means violence to you.Yelling, hitting, cutting, torture, rape…murder.”

“Depends.I find we all have one or two of those when we’re that mad.But no, I don’t fantasize about killing innocents.”

“What about the guilty?”

“Uh, sometimes.”

“What would motivate you, then, to murder Fields?”

Travis realized how much of his energy and focus had lowered only in the last hour.This is what he wanted, this is how it would work out, but there was a chewing sense of hopelessness at the corners of his brain (ready to shut off).He had to confess. 

He couldn’t help feeling that he also wanted _them_ to confess, in return.If he could just explain what Fields had done, what he said.They wouldn’t listen, however.

You wouldn’t tell the ground that it might have worms.

_Time to fess up.Damn chickens are roosting._

Entrapment would become his escape, silence his release.Death his grand finale after whatever the hell kind of life he lived.His heartbeat matched his easy, almost nonexistent breaths as he prepared himself for what was ahead.Oddly enough, it was becoming the most comforting thing he could imagine.Perhaps outside of family, but where were they?

There was already hardly a heartbeat or breath to be heard.Like Fields and the girl, he had been dead for awhile.

This was something new, waiting just for him.That idea quelled the fear, the apprehension, and the other mortal stumbles that try to convince one that the here and now is what matters, the insignificant, minuscule matters of the universe and the wants of the flesh, the muck blocking a never-ending, clear river ahead….the one you’ve been convinced is where you will only drown in darkness.

_Waiting just for me._

The female cop came in, ruining Travis’s moment.

“Sarge, I need to tell you that the rookie in your patrol is being sent into an area where we had two distress calls.I just wanted to know if there was anything you need to say to him first…or not?”

“What area?”

When she told him, Travis shifted his eyes at hearing that it was Barton’s address.

“No, let him do his thing.He’ll never learn if I keep on having to straighten him out.”

Travis had to think quick.He could continue down the path that he knew well, that he had engraved for himself, or have a change of plan.A change of heart as well, with a more risky, and possibly a more prospective opportunity.Betray his vows, or live on.

Travis raised his cuffed hand like a student wanting permission to speak.

“You can’t go to the restroom,” Elmers sneered.

“I wanted to, uh, to let you know, that location is the same one for Barton…who, as I uh, as I said might be responsible…for a number of things.”

“Really…you’re really going to sit here, look me in the eyes, and suggest it _wasn’t_ you?The balls on you, son.”

“Not exactly…I just wanted to let you know.”

“You believe that this Barton lines up with the same man Fields had on record? I mean, you’re sleeping with us either way, but I’m curious to know what you really think in that deranged head of yours.”

“I’ve decided to defer to my lawyer until you dig up more proof on Barton…who I believe did it.I wish to remain silent.”

“If he did it, then why are you confessing?”

“I thought it was the right thing to do…the police said I did it…and I’m tired of it all…I felt forced.”

“You knew as well as anyone else you’re the most suspect, and now you’re reversing it?” Elmers turned to the two police witnesses in disbelief.“Fellas, this man killed one of our own…and he has the gall to talk to us like we’re idiots.”

“ _Likely_ killed one of our own.”

“Excuse me?”

“We haven’t found any _physical_ evidence yet, or interrogated any more suspects for the past 48 hours, sir…that’s all I meant.But of course, guilty as charged.” 

Elmers mouth curled, and he kneaded his fingers.“Put him in the cell.Until he’s ready to _actually_ confess and not waste our time.”He warned, “But don’t put your hands on him.”

Travis was pulled out of the room.Admitting to wrongdoings was honorable, surely, but he had a feeling that events were about to turn. 

“Could I uh, maybe get a cup of water? A saltine cracker?” The cell door shut.

At the apartment, Christina snagged a piece of toilet paper from Barton’s bathroom and carefully wiped his hand with it while he was in a daze.She let the paper absorb the oil in his fingertips.

She rubbed the first sheet all over her automatic, and then the second sheet she intricately dabbed onto Fields’ corpse in the living area.

She stood in that spot for a while, until she heard a siren not too far away.She strode back into the kitchen.“He’s….he’s here.”

“Travis?” Barton answered.

“He’s here, and he’s in a rage…Shit man, do you want him to gun us down?”

“St-stop lying…”

“Please! I don’t trust myself with this.You have to do it…please, for our own lives.I said I would get you out of this.I said I was sorry.I know you want to kill me too, I get that…but I’m trying to help…at least, just, kill Travis first.”

He noticed something in her eyes, as if she was forced to perform over another forced performance.He believed her.Despite his accusation, she hadn’t _exactly_ lied to him thus far, but there were no pulses in those eyes.No sign of extreme anguish other than irritated arteries.

“Please Bart, he told me _himself_ that he was going to kill us…both of us.If I walked in that room…”

“Why d-do you act different with…with him, and some other different with m-me?”

“Do it.”She put the automatic in his hand.“You have to do it.”

He was shocked when she tried to unravel and then used a saw to undo his rope.

“The first thing you see come through that door,” she told him hazily, “you shoot.”

A siren sound was close and she covered his ears.“The fuck…whattaya doin? What’s that?”

“Shh.He’s coming in.”The siren stopped.

Outside, the police silently took out their firearms and turned on their flashlights.They eased to the front door.During which the head officer raised a finger to his lips.

“It’s locked,” a cop informed.

“Then pry it open, dipshit.”

Barton rose up from his chair: groaning, wobbling, and ready to shoot Christina, who had quickly stuffed the rope into the zipped up bag.“Go,” she whispered, not noticing his intention to kill.With the remaining ounces of her arm strength that day, she tore open the door to the living area, and pushed the large but extremely weakened man with the chair as a battering ram.“GO.”

“Hello? Police!” A male voice sounded in his ringing, throbbing ears.He aimed the gun to the room’s entrance wall.Feet shuffled in.A beam of light appeared on the hall floor.

In mere seconds, a young man entered the dark room and cocked his own gun.Barton smiled for no reason at all; feeling better than he had in a long time. 

Out of instinct, he shot the young man that he imagined as Travis.

Someone groaned and hit the floor.Gargling sounds alerted everyone else—there were others—to the room.The light turned on, causing Barton himself to groan. 

In more mere seconds, the cops saw their young rookie shot.They saw the corpse of their comrade Fields laid out on the carpet.They saw the tall, hunched, frightening man holding his gun with a maddened smile.

Barton in turn saw them.He saw the blood.He saw the corpse.His expression reversed and he rapidly shook his head.He tried to kill himself but there was only one bullet.

His last mere seconds of panic were interrupted by the chorus of bullets that now riddled him.

The infamous filmmaker was shot several times to death by the law of New York.

———————————————

Christina hid under the counter.She crouched and held the bulky, long duffel bag. 

When she heard the first shot she slunk out the back door to run.

They checked all the rooms, and found a heap of damning evidence in the lounge—where the lock was broken, objects were thrown around, and instruments were hidden.

“Fields has been found.I repeat, Fields has been found,” the chief barked on walkie-talkie radio.“Barton down…the rookie down.”His sadness came second to the report he was now telling, claiming that Barton had, from the looks of it, killed Fields among others.

“Here’s what looks to be a film roll….holy shit.”A cop shone his flashlight onto human remains, and a miniature book.

Christina stopped for a moment before she left.She had noticed a bloodied young cop laid out on a blanket near a police car.She leaned over, seeing that he was barely alive—probably in _mere seconds_.He saw her as well in one of those seconds.

Then she recognized something else at the sight of his tattoo: He was the same young man, the ex-Navy man from earlier, who admired Travis and told them the brothel stories.He came off to be a good man.

She gave a nod.If it was out of respect or regret couldn’t be concluded in the dark.

She walked over him, careful not to get blood on her new Chuck Taylors Converse shoes.

Another cop came out to take watch right after she left.She ran and walked through the dark alleys and between buildings.Lugging the bag, trying to ignore the hard objects inside hitting her back.The first alley contained the other materials, mostly the embalming fluid, the defunct bomb, and Travis’s clipboard.She stuffed it in the bag—but it was so full the rest could only be partially zipped in.Christina didn’t even worry about the bomb at this point: she was beyond her limit.She even had to remove her gloves for relief.

Despite slowing down, the will to escape pushed her forward, and streetlights helped to guide her.But by the third street her tired leg with a bad big toe fell out from under her.She caught herself with her hands, which were now scraped.She stumbled.Her knee and elbow caught her this time, and a few of the objects stuffed into the bag spilled out.

She tried to catch the embalming bottle and it slid itself down the gutter.

She let her head lower face-down on the road.Panting.

She used her good elbow to lean on the street curb and help her back on her feet.She skidded on the black ice as she stood up.Ice.Cold.New York.These past few days that made her drug trips look like a Walt Disney movie.

Fuck all of it.She glared down at the results of winter and the city, her worst enemies.“FUCK YOU!” She wanted to scream at the iced road, but it came out in a hoarse breath instead.She didn’t even have the vocal power to scream on a normal day.

She only just noticed the lit-up phone booth across the street after gathering the items.

She decided to knock on a nearby door: the light on inside.The apartment door opened to show a woman in a nightgown.“Can I help you?”

“Hi Ma’am.Sorry to bother you this late.I was wondering…do you know the number for the closest taxi service? I’m uh, I’m lost.”

“You know what, I think they gave me those kinda numbers on a sticky note…let me look.”She came back out with a new note, where she had copied the number from the former.“Here you go.”

“Nice…thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”She looked at Christina with some suspicion, then empathy when the light from her apartment exposed a pair of scraped palms.“What happened there?”

“I fell.”

“Mhmm! I heard that one before! Do you need to come in for a few minutes, get warm?”

“Ah no, no.I really appreciate it, but I have to get home ASAP.Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Oh, okay.I guess I, um, I just thought…oh never mind.Well, get home safe!”

“Thanks.” Christina smiled at the woman, who smiled back and closed her door—Christina’s smile disappeared with the door.She held her arm before dialing the phone.Once she hit a joint (and not in the good way), everything flared up again.She put her gloves back on.

The cab would come to take her to a hotel.It would be the second time she rode in one.

Travis was having it rough himself at the station.

Even with the bruises, he was still pacing in the cell with the same expectations as a caged tiger.It was two in the morning and his boots had not stopped making noise.A resting guard finally yelled at him to go the fuck to sleep.“Or I’ll drive, throw you to gen-er-al population myself,” he joked with a laugh.

The implications of that at least motivated Travis to lie down in the hard resting space.But he was not ready to allow himself to be vulnerable in here. 

What happened with Barton? What would happen to him? What did they find?

He knew he was at fault.Majorly.But he had somehow sped past guilt into satisfaction, of his plan and of himself.Of what would result after all this hard work.

He was Travis Bickle.He didn’t do anything for nothing.

_Three weeks later_

When they told Travis he could go, he assumed that it was a trick.

After a night in the station jail, he was sent to an actual, local jail.Much better than a sentence of three years, and _far_ better than a sentence to life.He probably should have caught on when he wasn’t sent to a federal prison.

They found concrete evidence at Barton’s, they said, but no one else had come to confess.He was still suspect…although a task force also found that Barton had a history.And they wondered if Travis may have been “coerced” to confess.He could not be held any longer, especially after the court’s notification.

Since the case was taken to court, Travis had to be released from custody until then.

Travis appeared at his first court date.He presented his case of feeling forced—which was not a complete lie, but pretty close.He reported receiving unlawful blows from officers.Keegan showed his psychological papers, which he claimed “proved” “severe mental illness” and “underdeveloped mental capacities.”This ticked off Travis, but he went along with it.He had to act like there was little to be found in his head.

They saw that he had no criminal history other than the shootings at the brothel—which made him a potentially dangerous person—but no other indication implied such.He was in the Marines by choice, and he never missed any appointment or jury duty.He was held in high regard by many in the city: he donated, he was a veteran, and he was a hard worker.

They found nothing in his apartment to indicate him.They found fingerprints, Barton’s, on Fields and on the gun.Keegan had the discovered note be brought out to the jury.

It was a somewhat messy confession note written by Barton.He had tortured and murdered Fields, discovering that Fields wanted to quit his job to fulfill his own sick desire to be killed on screen.After many arguments on this subject, Fields gave him a dangerous ultimatum without paying his debt.So Barton kidnapped him.He wanted to watch “a copper squirm.”This was after Barton returned from another country, hiding from a previous murder charge.Barton revealed that Fields “fought him,” and even tried to escape into the lounge. 

He said that he often fought his clients.That very day it was with a gang who punched him, kicked him, and knocked his teeth out.He said it was fulfilling to preserve the body, as a keepsake.He was so proud of it, that he wanted “all you fuckers to see it.”He then said that he loved his daughter and he knew he deserved to die. 

Travis smiled.That note was planned by he and Christina; after he told her of his idea…before he arrived at the brothel.They got the drunk, dizzy Barton to write it down.To imply he was under more empty threats. 

He wouldn’t give up the most important information, but he complied with this.When he stopped midway to refuse, Travis with his _own_ “used” Bart’s hand to write the rest..quite a challenge.

At last, that guilty ton of bricks hit him on cue.Barton would always deserve to die in his mind, but was all this show so necessary? All this trouble, all this sneaky, manipulative, heaps of blame? 

Was a lie ever worth it in the end?

He tormented a cop he should’ve just left alone.He tormented a man he should’ve reported to higher justice.He dragged his friend along with him.Was he tormenting her, too?He thought he was honest and noble.Now? What differentiated him from those he targeted?Officer Nolte was right—he couldn’t escape every time.

Yet who was still standing? 

There’s the difference.Purpose.

Travis made so many mistakes in his life, he could only try his best not to revisit them.But he also had to learn.The past years were embedded. 

From this point on, he vowed to become wiser, and much more honest.He would have to abandon vengeance for the sake of vengeance.Not justice—justice was never not on his mind—only needless vengeance.He would have to take proper care of his mental health, and allow his weaknesses to subside for his stronger self.

The jury voted on insufficient evidence against the defendant, therefore not guilty (Travis swore he heard at least a few whisper “guilty”).It led to what seemed like a general verdict with interrogatories, as the judge sought the meaning of the decision.

There was a long conclusion until the entry of judgment proceeded, and the judge sided with the jury’s verdict.Barton’s case required further investigation.

Of course the rules: Travis had to start up his meds again, comply with the law and help in this investigation, and arrive timely at every possible following court date.He was not allowed near the former brothel.He would be monitored, reviewed, and watched closely by police.

If he missed one court date, he would be thrown back into jail.If he was reported committing or implicating violence, he would be put into a mental institution.

Travis had no choice but to agree to these terms.At least he would have budding relationships to look forward to.

He wanted to be with his friends.He wanted to be accepted, especially as someone who could serve.Not always the bitter kind of driver.

He wasn’t ready to die just yet, he decided.He wanted to live normally, and happily, even if just for a couple more years.At the same time, he wanted to succeed in his goals and plan, which would be a huge undertaking….a huge test for him.Those contradictions of his justwouldn’t go away.

It didn’t mean the end, though.


	28. A City Upon a Hill

That evening, a stabbing pain sent Travis’s eyes open.

He bolted up from his bed.He saw that his sheets were soaked from the amount of sweat coming off of him while he slept for a few hours.He rubbed his neck and scratched his head.

He walked into the main room—emptier than ever.The TV was still on: he could’ve sworn he turned it off much earlier.The static was irritating.He decided to turn it off with more force this time.Was this place haunted too?

Travis checked the wall clock: it was about thirty minutes after eleven PM.He released a chortle that turned into a groan, because now he _really_ would be up all night.He occasionally tried to train his body to stay awake for over 24 hours, but that didn’t always work out.

He recently moved into his new place, a far nicer place than the previous.It was a condo he used a heavy chunk of his change in order to own.Well, maybe only to rent for now.He stored up a large amount of money from taxi driving.He worked longer and harder than anyone else for a reason. 

It managed to pay for a move, but Travis remained worried.

Since word got out about his situation with the police (though not all of the exact details), the taxi company he worked for was giving him less job opportunities and shorter time slots.The court dates were a whole other financial story, and Travis had to take a temporary, part-time second job in shipbuilding. 

The police were on him.They reviewed him, questioned him.He had to constantly be on his “best behavior,” say everything right, and give information.He had to assist with the Barton-Fields case.His car was inspected and re-inspected more times than he could count.

The condo, meanwhile, was subtly colored, and a painting from the former owner still hung in the bathroom.It had a modern feel.Some boxes were not unpacked yet.

When he first arrived, it was dirty.So much in fact, Travis was determined to clean all of it that day.He bought cleaning supplies, and scrubbed, swept, bleached, vacuumed and dusted every empty space to the best of his ability.

Of course, only three days later, some of his things were on the floor and his dishes were stacked up.Thus, it already wasn’t as organized as he would’ve liked.But he made the effort.

Travis spent the rest of his hours either lingering, snacking, or reading Dante’s Inferno, which he finally had found time for.He was only in the first part, but it was already somewhat interesting; even with medieval wordplay he _at times_ had to read over more than once.His journal was neglected and he forced his meds into his system. 

Those spells—combined with an increased loneliness—motivated him to take a chance.

Tomorrow was brighter.He would decide to call someone he knew and touch base:

“I moved into this new place, and I think I really need someone else’s opinion on it before I start painting and decorating.I’m not good at that shit, you know.I’m sure I need a feminine touch.I don’t know why, but the first person I thought of was you…and I still have stuff to unpack as well.I thought maybe you could be the first one to see it, and then, possibly, help me out with some things.What do you think?”

“Uh…let me um, let me think about that-”

“Oh, okay.” Travis waited on the other line for Betsy’s answer.“We don’t have to.I just thought it could end up being sorta fun.”

“No, I-I think I can, actually.I’m off for half of the day tomorrow.”

“Alright, tomorrow then.See you…?”

“Tell me your address and I’ll come to your door.How about noon?”

“Uh, sure, that’s fine.Bye Betsy…you’re doing good, I hope.”

“I most certainly am, but thanks for asking!Better get ready for tomorrow…bye-bye.”

Travis smiled.He couldn’t help himself.He did not care in the least about house renovation, but dammit, it worked.

Betsy, however, wondered about her decision. She didn’t want to hurt Travis’s feelings, and possibly, deep down, she really wanted to see him again. 

She would go, she officially decided.She only hoped Travis didn’t get any wrong ideas.

And s _he_ didn’t get any wrong ideas.

At the new Palantine headquarters the next day, Betsy was even quicker in her rapid and successive movements than usual.She merited a few looks for it.

She stacked and organized her files for the last time before answering a phone call on when the building would be changed.It was slow-going, but what was once the investments for the campaign base would be re-funded into a library or foundation in Palantine’s name to preserve his policies and contributions to the sociopolitical world.It could also be toured, and it would indeed have one particular focus on the plight of Northeastern children.

Betsy was already strung out from having to deal with the fiasco—involving stolen files—that carried on for almost four months now.She was glad to finally have others share in the grit of that responsibility.She deferred the rest of the day’s calls to the same others, who appeared to be annoyed with the rushing young woman.Right when she was on her long walk to the door, Tom, expertly on time, came out of the elevator.

“Betsy! Hey! What are we doing for lunch?”

Betsy stopped.This was their usual time to eat lunch together.They’d been doing that more often these days, perhaps or perhaps not in relation to their kiss on New Year’s.But Betsy still refused anything more than a friendly and flirty relationship, which Tom tried not to resent her for.Why couldn’t she just make up her damn mind?

“Tom, I’m going to head out and take an early day.Could you look over those environmental spill standards for me, please? If that guy asks you for the social security number again, call Maine’s base immediately.”

“What? You can’t just take an early day.”

“Well…I am. I think with how much I’ve busted my ass, Palantine _himself_ would say I’ve earned that privilege.Go on, ask him.”

“Oh yeah? And where are you off to that’s so important?”

Betsy walked over to him, and spoke with a hush, so the others (who were mostly busy anyway) could not overhear.“It’s a private matter.”She had a sly smile.

She walked out and Tom did not seem to be especially satisfied. _Always_ d _isappearing like fucking Mary Poppins,_ he thought.

She drove to the condominium, and was rather impressed.She didn’t know Travis earned that much money just from driving for a whole week _every_ week.Betsy flattened the creases in her crisp white blouse and beige pants.The knock was light to match her slightly nervous mood.

“Afternoon.”Travis awkwardly smiled at her when he opened the door.

“Afternoon!”

He welcomed her inside.“Wow,” she said while buttoning her cufflink.The television was on.

“It’s not much, really, but I thought it was a fair deal for how pricey everything is these days.”

“A fair deal…hmm, I’d have to agree with that.What color were you thinking of painting it?”

“Grey.”

“Oh.”Betsy was hoping for something bright and cheery.

“Then I can call it ‘The Grey Area,’” he pronounced.

Betsy laughed.“For everyone with blurred lines.”

Travis smiled at her.“Yeah, I’m not tryin to go buck wild.But I do want to spruce it up, which is uh, which is what I was gonna call you over for, and did…obviously.”

“And I’m here!”

“And you’re here!”

“Glad to be here.Well, tell me where you want to start.Sorry if I might be a little cranky though, I missed lunch.”

“I figured.I can um, make us sandwiches—I have this leftover tuna salad.” 

“That sounds good.”

“You can sit down in a chair or on the couch, wherever you want.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh.You’re the guest.”Betsy always felt bad when she was treated like a guest…but she also didn’t exactly _mind_ being served.

She sat on the very edge of the couch, like she was afraid to ruin his possessions for some reason. _The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams_ was playing on TV.“Ooh, is this a new episode?”

Travis brought her the sandwich on a paper plate with a napkin.“Oh my, look at that!” She reached out to take it.“Thanks, Travis.”Though she looked at the plate a bit strangely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.I just—I just usually try to eat everything on washable plates, to save paper.” Betsy waved her hand.“Don’t worry about it.No biggie.”

“I can put it on a hard plate.I bought a new set-”

“No, it’s fine.Really.”

He saw her still eyeing the sandwich.“Do you like the crust?”

She looked at him with blue doe eyes, and she hunched her shoulders.“No…” She squeaked, biting her lip.

“Mmm.” He sat down next to her.“Too bad.”

They watched Grizzly Adams while they chowed down.The sandwiches had provolone cheese with the tuna salad.

Betsy’s eyebrows suddenly moved as she chewed, and she turned to him: “This is good.Holy cow.I need to toast my bread next time.”

“Nothin better than some good toast…with a lotta cheese.”

“Mhm.” She tried to faintly agree with a mouthful of bread.

“I like his relationship with that Native man, Nakoma,” she said. “So good.”

“I didn’t know you’d enjoy this kinda show.”

“Are you kidding? I watch it fucking religiously.”

After a pause, she once again turned to him: “How are you doing, by the way?”

“So-so.I’m trying to get more sleep.Eat more.Both are hard because of meds, but I do try.”

“Definitely keep trying.I’m trying to get better sleep too…I can’t stand working and I’m only half-awake.”

Ben the bear came on screen, and Travis was now the one to talk:

“Do you remember that movie with the rat who’s named Ben, and he has an army of killer rats? It was about this social outcast named Willard who had a horde of rats he’d sick on people.I swear I remember watching it at the grind-house theater.”

“Killer rats? Um..”

“Willard! That was the name.”

“Actually, yeah, that’s coming to me now.Damn it, there goes more of my sleep…”

“Murderous rats.”Travis repeated Willard’s cheesy line: “TEAR HIM UP!”

“Sondra Locke is in that, who just so happens to be connected to Clint Eastwood, and I was thinking about _Play Misty for Me_ the other day…now that’s a good movie,” Betsy said.

“Isn’t that by Clint? I always loved his flicks.”

“Me too, and yes.But I was thinking about it, and I thought, why are the ‘frightening’ women always portrayed as obsessed? When men are psychos, they can be reclusive, dangerous, and violent…but the women are just obsessed.I guess there’s something blood-curdling about a woman with passion.”

A gunshot sound came from the TV, and Travis suddenly jumped and grabbed onto the side of the couch. 

“Are you okay?” Betsy asked, concerned.

“Why is that so loud?” Travis breathed.

“I thought the volume was kind of low, myself.”She yawned. “Making me sleepy.”

“We should start working on this condo.” Travis turned off the TV and checked a list of what needed to be done.

Betsy noticed that he had a slight totter in his step, so slight that only someone as observant as she could really see it. 

“I have a little bit of tinnitus, and problems with vertigo,” Travis would later explain, “so my hearing and movements may be a bit off.”

But Betsy had relatives with those same experiences.That wasn’t exactly what they showed, and Travis seemed to have a lot more going on with him.No one could truly know what was happening behind the scenes, and Travis wouldn’t let anyone know regardless.

Betsy helped Travis unpack some things from his room.The various objects he had gathered over time were placed where he said he wanted them to be placed.They also moved a coffee table into the living area, and Travis replaced a lampshade.

“You’re still working for Palantine?” He asked while positioning the shade. “I’d think he’d be out of the game for a while now.”

“He has some projects in motion.Plus, with the midterms coming up, we have to prepare and help in any way possible,” Betsy answered, leaning on a wall.“It’s funny, I was only volunteering for _that_ year.I guess I proved pretty damn useful.”

“Do you ever think about doing anything else?”

“What do you mean? Like working somewhere else?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You gotta have some other talent, I’m sure.”

“No…I’m needed there.I guess if I’ve always been, might as well stay until I’m _not_ needed.Right now we’re also trying to settle this issue-” Betsy stopped herself before she spilled the controversies Palantine had encountered with his legal teams and finances the past half-year.Why would she say that? She could be so stupid (i.e. talkative) sometimes.

“An issue? Is that what you said?”

“We found, um…we found out that…a subordinate in our campaign, may have been involved in receiving funds from…nefarious activities…and we might be losing money.”

“Describe to me what kinda nefarious we’re talkin.”

“It’s a bit…private.You know? I’d rather not.”

“Now I’m curious, though.”

Betsy’s sigh resembled a grunt.

“Drug trafficking, _maybe_.” Her voice lowered to an almost whisper: “ _Possibly_ other trafficking.I’m sure it’s only a misunderstanding, or a rumor.”

“Trafficking?” Travis said it much louder.Betsy shushed him: “You cannot tell ANYONE what I just told you.We don’t know for sure…we just have…certain assumptions, going by our analysts.”

“Does Charles himself know?”

“I don’t know…uh, yes, he does.”

“That’s a pretty bad accusation, especially if this _person’s_ workin for him and all.I should hope he knows.”

“He does.We’re handling it the best we can right now, so we can clear up the senator’s good name and get back to normal.The most crucial thing is to protect this from the press.”Betsy already knew she had messed up, and checked around the room as if to watch for any potential monitoring devices.

“I have some personal experience with human trafficking…which I dealt with in my _own_ kinda way, so I’m interested in this.”

“I can’t talk about it,” Betsy hissed and turned her back to him. 

“I think-” But Betsy was suddenly busy with something.“Whatever,” Travis sighed, deciding to start on polishing the floor.

“Do you have an ironing board?” Betsy asked, holding up the tablecloth.She would wash it and iron it, then set the table.She did it an orderly fashion: everything matching, straightened, and pleasing to the eye.

They now both stood before the walls, thinking.“I think what you could do…” started Betsy, “…is set up something with a stark color about _here_ , and it won’t be so dull, but it could still color-coordinate.Violet maybe? Mmm, no…”

Travis tried to listen, but he had his own ideas.They continued their talk on design until Travis was bored of it and then unpacked another object.It was a heavy book on Native American tribes that he set on the coffee table.A subject that interested him, he bought it on a whim nevertheless.

“Ooh, Tom would love that!” Betsy exclaimed upon seeing it.

Oh. Tom. Travis had forgotten they continued to work together.It made him uncomfortable.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s good.Same old Tom.He tries to make the best out of everything.”

“Do you like that about him?” Travis asked with a hint of anger.

“Yeah, sure.He’s not a buzzkill, so I like him.”

“I get you.” Travis crossed his arms and surveyed the room.“Well, Betsy, I think we’re done here.Thanks for all your help.”

“Of course! It was kinda fun to unlock my creativity again.”

Travis smiled. “I think you’re _exceptionally_ creative.”

“Aw, thank you.I wish we could spend more time together, but..”

“We can,” Travis interjected, “We definitely can.In fact, that’s what I was gonna ask before you left.”

“Oh yeah? What were you going to ask me?” She grinned.

Travis started explaining swiftly, almost a bit nervously.

“So that’s why when I saw this outdoor hiking thing, I immediately thought of you…believe it or not.Would…would that interest you in any way? Cause ya know I’m here alone and I was thinking, I thought we might hang out and do something together; I haven’t seen you in so long.I mean when we’re both free.What do you say?” He held out two passes that he “happened” to buy.He had come prepared, waiting for this moment.

Betsy stared at him. “You know…”

“As always, we don’t got to, but it’d be much nicer than…this.”

“It, it would be, I’m sure.I still have, um, work—though.Remember?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Sunday.”

“Then we can do it Sunday…probably.”

She rubbed her chin, and after a minute looked back at him.They were about the same height and they could reach a comfortable eye level.“We can take my car.”

“I’m good with that.”

They went through potential plans, and Betsy finally left with a kind farewell to Travis, who hoped to see her Sunday.Betsy wasn’t as sure.

First of all, she wasn’t a _huge_ “woods” person.Secondly, she was seriously taking the plunge to go on another outing—alone—with him.The first time wasn’t _so_ successful, and he was even nice enough to threaten her afterwards.She sincerely hoped that their new-found friendship would erase the awkwardness…or sense of discomfort.She didn’t believe Tom; she didn’t believe that Travis was actually that dangerous.He had moved, right?He seemed to be acting responsibly, and level-headed. 

Yet she couldn’t shake that “off” feeling.Hopefully all would go well.

———————————————

Tom was slow to move that following day.His mind and body were disjointed in the rhythm they were meant to follow.

He was in the hospital.It was the same hospital he admitted his grandmother in less than a month ago.Since then, she had many appointments.Her scarring and its repeated echoes were not leaving as fast as anyone quite liked.It’s just because she’s old, she would tell Tom.He was not so comforted, nor as confident.

Today he picked her up at noon from an x-ray appointment. 

He found the doctor at the door.“Hi there.Come on in.”

“Todd?”

“Tom.”

“Sorry, Tom.Your grandmother—she’s the best, isn’t she—she’s getting weighed, and then she’ll be back in here to see you.She looks really good, but the bruise on her cranium is healing quite slowly.We decided to up her pain medication.”

“She hates those meds.”

“I know.She’s certainly told me.”

“Does she need to come in again? I think this is wearing her out.It’s wearing my wallet out too, you know.”

“She _might_ have to.Just keep checking on her whenever you can.At least remind her to check her temperature.If anything continues, yes, she’ll need to come back.”

Tom walked over to the window and looked out at the sunny day.He hated when the sun mismatched his mood.He could see the city smog from here as well, and he wondered if they both would need to return to a doctor from that alone.

The doctor put down his clipboard to directly address Tom.“Thanks for your patience.”

“Whatever I have to do for her, you know.”

“I understand, Todd, I totally understand.” Tom glared at him. 

A young, pretty nurse (another woman he had no chance with) returned with “Rachel Kaplowitz”: only Bubbie to Tom.“She’s all done!”

“Thomas, stop these people from poking and prodding me,” Bubbie immediately said, loudly, upon seeing her grandson.“I’m like a goddamn science experiment.”

“I’m trying!” He gently hugged her, smelling her _“Amethyst Daydream”_ perfume—Tom knew the scent since childhood; it was in an old glass spray bottle.“How are you?”

“I could eat.Maybe a bagel or two.” Tom and Bubbie both loved bagels and cream cheese, and also enjoyed eating them together at a deli every other week.Sometimes they would have blueberry or cinnamon bagels, and strawberry cream cheese, with coffee.Bubbie preferred her own, but she knew it was a good retreat for the overworked Tom.

The medical staff overviewed everything with Bubbie as usual.She talked to them for another twenty minutes or so on things from her condition to what was happening in their lives, or with their families.

Tom had to put his arm around her shoulder to encourage her out the door: “I thought you wanted to eat.”

She adjusted a fake-ruby ring on her finger with her narrowed eyes: “I had to know!”

“You’re too sweet to everybody, everybody wants to talk to you.”

“I wish Gayle would talk to me.She neva did call me back.”

She grabbed onto him for support when she felt a headache pang.“I don’t need another migraine, now.”

“Just take it easy.You fell _hard_.”

They got into Tom’s car, a Ford Pinto.After Tom started the drive home, Bubbie asked an awkward question: “What happened to that Betsy girl? You said she came in the hospital when I was out cold.Pretty—but so fuckin stuffy, that one.What happened to her?” Tom talked about Betsy so much Bubbie already knew her well.

Tom sighed.“Who knows.She left early to God knows where yesterday.”

“You need to quit there…they take ya for granted.And—I can’t stand listening to politics anymore…don’t have it in me I guess.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.But, it’s like, I am appreciated there…somewhat.”

There was a long silence.Bubbie could see in his face that he was still downtrodden.

“You depressed, hon?”

“Depressed?” Tom laughed.

“Yeah, yeah.You haven’t been to a bar with your friends in a long time.I been fucked in the head, but even I’ve noticed.Is it your uncle? I know he’s still in jail…”

“I…I don’t know, Bubbie.I think you’re right.I’m undervalued.My parents could care less about me, Miles, sorry, _Uncle_ Miles is a fucking criminal, none of the other family or my supposed ‘friends’ could care…Betsy clearly doesn’t care.I mean, my birthday is in a few days and I know everyone will forget, like they do every single year since I could remember.And I’m not especially handsome…just ‘a good guy,’ as I’ve been so nicely told.I don’t think anybody has cared about me from the time I came outta the womb.Who would care about lackluster little Tommy? I don’t blame em.I don’t blame em.”

“Poppy-cock.I care about you, and God cares about you.”

Tom frowned.He squinted his eyes from the sun.

“Fuck all of them anyway.Thomas, let me buy you some cupcakes from the store and we’ll celebrate your birthday together.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bubs.You need to rest.”

“We can watch The Six Million Dollar Man too.”

“I said don’t worry about it…I’m a grown man.”

“I’m still here, regardless.You get your wit from me, don’t forget that.”

“And thank God I did.My one saving grace.”

“You do gotta call your sister at some point, and your brotha.And can you at least _try_ to reach out to Mom and Dad?”

“They should be the ones calling me.”

“I’m just saying, Thomas.”She ran her fingers through her curly salt-n-pepper hair.“That girl will come back.If she really likes you, she will.Trust Bubbie.”

Tom took a while to respond: “I should hope.”

“Did I ever tell you that I saw a UFO?”

“A UFO? Really? No…but I’m interested.”

“Yes I did.It was back many, many years ago, and I was walking with my best friend at the time when we lived in Rochester.It was a cold fall morning.We both had our strollers, where I was walking with your father when he was a baby.So we’re talking and all the sudden I see this pond through the trees.I stopped…because this huge flying disk—I’m telling you it was a disk—hovered _over_ the water and then flew up within seconds: gone.I’m dead serious.I’m not one to pull any bullshit, you know me.I saw it.”

Tom glanced: “What?”

“I saw it!”

“It was probably just…like, a military experiment.A drone.”

“They didn’t have the technology in those days.It was a spaceship.”

“You never know.The government likes to hide its shit…even us on the lowest rung know that.”

———————————————

Travis took the left turn to the bank.The inside building was professional.Intimidatingly professional.

He told the teller what he was here for.He was led to a room where another person was waiting for his presence at their desk.Other customers could be heard chatting even in faraway rooms.

Soon enough, Travis was sitting in the chair across, made of scratchy fabric.He couldn’t seem to stop tapping his foot on the old brown carpet, and his stained fingernails on the side of the chair.

“Hold on,” the person sitting across from him skidded his eraser.“I almost wrote down your name as Travis _Buckle_.” He snickered.“Like a belt.” Travis tuned it out.

“And you’ve received your Federal EIN from the IRS, is that right?” The man in the blue suit speaking to him jotted things down while he spoke.

Travis nodded.“Through mail.”

“Remember, this little number is important when it comes to opening a business account, and tax returns for any potential business in question.” The man, who Travis now noticed from a name plate was “George Larkin,” told him more about it in quick detail.

Travis kept nodding and mumbling “right” as his go-to, one-word answer, as if that would imply that he actually understood everything.Or would get it over with at a quicker rate.

“Typically, we wait until a small business first shows signs of blooming on its own to open the business account, but from what I can tell, you have the eligibility for it at the moment.”

“What should I mainly be thinkin about before I open this account?” Travis asked.

“Well, a lot,” George huffed with a small laugh, “Interest rates, your best options across several banks, collective costs, really any fees from balances to the time and place of transactions.”

Travis looked a bit lost, so George moved on: “Let’s start with this—are you looking for a possible co-ownership of this business? There are certain considerations with limited liability, sharing of stock, and specific rules you can set or lines to draw on income and legal matters.”

“No, I’m not.” Travis only gave simple answers, no matter where he was.

“What about a partnership? Are you thinking about a partner?”

“I don’t know.”

As the conversation carried on—for a while—more and more details emerged, and George Larkin found he had to repeat himself more than a few times.Travis was sharp when it came to money, however, and he always had a “third-way” (an unconventional way, really) of approaching a problem.He was quite determined to open this business and get a head start.Travis was not someone to be stopped once he was determined.

Larkin looked through his notes, then shuffled a particular stack of papers.“May I see your license again?” Travis handed it over to him.“Thank you, Mr. Bickle.”

Travis’s finger tapping suddenly accelerated as it dawned that George nor the entire bank had yet buggered him over his recent run-ins with the law.It was pretty serious, at least that was his general consensus of it.It seemed odd that it hadn’t risen up to stop him so far.

“Now, onto funds.”Words like corporation, loans, grants, and such flew into Travis’s ears. He still was not entirely sure where or who he would receive all his funding from, but he knew he would find a way.He always did.

“…try to get in contact with the secretary of state…” More words flew by.“…and if you have a lawyer, or a criminal record…”

Travis was just about ready to go when George folded his arms and hands onto the desk, and leaned over in his direction.“If you don’t mind me asking, what gave you the idea for this kind of business? I’m actually rather interested.I don’t usually…well, we don’t get this sort of thing everyday."

“Because I’m a taxi driver, that’s about it.I mean, if I was—were to be specific, I’ve seen so much since I started this job, _so_ much, that I finally had to sit down and think.I thought about the other drivers too.They must be seeing the same.They must be feeling the same…as me, too.I think there should be an outlet for us, so that we can vent our frustrations but we can also educate the public.Something to benefit _both_ drivers and customers, you know what I mean.Two birds with one stone.I don’t see why I can’t have my own publishing company to carry it out.”

“You’re going to need a lot of setup, a lot of resources, a lot of people with experience on your side.”

Travis was deep in thought.This indeed would be the hardest task he’s pulled in his life so far, but he’d been preparing for a year.If it would unveil itself like every other “plan” in his life, then he was preparing his whole lifespan, he simply didn’t know it yet.The idea had come to him after dropping off a small, sweet family (two parents and a girl who had to squeeze in the back) at The New York Foundling.They were to situate adopting a child from foster care.This was a long and difficult process.Yet, they seemed happy about it.They were celebrating the chance of a new life in their family, and a chance to help others.“Especially a child,” they said.Something about that stuck with Travis.The day before, he dropped off a businessman at the airport and he told him he was a life-saver.

Looking out his apartment window, watching the bustling people below, he had thought about both events.Iris then came to his mind.

That’s when an idea hatched.It formed and became larger overtime, some tweaking done here and there.Longer conversations with other cabbies helped.The art of the Met intensified it.

He was going to get this done.It was his only way to reverse his previous life’s purpose—murder.Death.Everyone loved him now, after all. _Everyone loved him._

Travis took a breath before diving into the dark waters ahead of him.He signed and confirmed what he was supposed to as per George’s instructions.He was more relaxed now—or maybe it was just the medicinal stimulants he had to take earlier.

“At least you’re going out there and trying,” George told him.“I’m more worried about those who _don’t_ in our current state.” He shook his head.

“Our current state?” It was as if those words were meant for him.

“The economy, obviously.It’s getting scary, and I’ve actually never said that before until now.”

“I’m uh, I’m not good at understanding the lot of this.Could you explain this to me in more detail? ‘Cause, you work at a bank…while I’m here.”

George repositioned himself.He appeared to be hesitant to say anymore.But Travis was eager to hear just how bad the damage was.George fiddled with his tie as he began: “Well, you already know about stagflation.The energy and oil crisis.How Arabian countries screwed us over in oil, how Vietnam was necessary, and how Israel was a talking head.Like most of us in the damn country do.I don’t think I remember ever hearing the word ‘stagflation’ until this decade.We’ve had inflation so bad since 1972, mostly heating up in 74, that it’s been predicted to become normal for many, many years… 

Under Nixon, our connection to the Bretton Woods system, other national economies, and our fallback to the gold standard were _all_ dramatically slowed, and that created a few especially empty holes.Wages slowed and stopped as well, and unemployment soon turned into a plague.That and homelessness.Everyday, people line up in droves outside gas stations, and not all of them have homes or jobs to go back to.Not to mention that the Federal Reserve is printing money out of _nowhere_ like it’s going out of style. 

Just flimsy cards on top of bigger, flimsier cards with no real system left to guide us.The average inflation rate is almost 7.30%, while the rate of unemployed is almost 8% unless expansion continues.This means, even with continued interest rates or possible bailouts, the economy will keep flatlining, flipping, stopping, rising, falling, until a giant bubble forms.The bubble pops, and surely we’ll be here to see it.”

Travis tried to lock in those numbers, and his brows furrowed.“You’re sayin the economy is going to crash?”

“It’s, it’s on the slope for it.You know…it has to.There’s no other way to get out of this.It could be anywhere in the next century, to next month.I really don’t know how people from either top _or_ bottom will handle it…these newer generations aren’t the same hardy folk of the Great Depression.How quickly we forget.”Suddenly, he seemed happier.“But don’t worry about it.That’s just my thoughts on it all, but it’s not my job, not what we’re here for.We’ll bounce back—the markets usually do.”

Travis was going to have a hard time not worrying about it.He was surprised he even got that much out of Larkin, who evidently cared about it enough to spill the details.Of course, he knew the average person talked about it, but it gave him a specific fear he hadn’t felt before.It also reaffirmed him of his plans.

“Actually, that just gives me more reason for startin this business.Thanks for the info, man.”

“You’re welcome…that was just my tangent, but you asked, and you are most welcome.Whatever I can do to help, I’m sure.You know, it reminds me of what Friedrich Hayek said…let me get him out of here…” George pulled out a small frame from his lowest drawer.It was a quilted quote: “‘The curious task of economics is to demonstrate to men how little they really know about what they imagine they can design.’ -Friedrich A. Hayek’”

“I can’t show this off in here,” George chuckled, “I work in a bank. They’d turn me out.”

“In case I also lose business…” Travis said, “…I hoped that you could provide me with any extra necessities to back me up.I might, um…give some jobs to others.”

George laughed.“Good luck with that.”

“I’m serious.”Travis was straight-faced.“I’m using my own tools, and my own ideas for this.I figure being self-employed is our best option here, and I wanna see more people self-employed.I just need to know any potential backup.”

Larkin cleared his throat.“Let me take this call.I’ll be back to you in a moment.”

Travis tapped his fingers and feet again as nervous tics.He stared at the gilded desk with an unblinking, blank stare.He wondered how much that one desk cost, and how it could be converted to the cause if everything were, indeed, to go to pot.

Larkin returned to his big-headed customer: “We can certainly work something out…I can’t always guarantee these uh, plans we’ve gone over, that you have, will _work_ , precisely.Every time.But we can definitely work it out.Just go over with us again what you have in mind, and who you were thinking about hiring.This is a huge project, we have to know every boundary as well as every possibility.”

They talked over what remained of Travis’s ideas.He had a growing pile of work cut out for him.Larkin had to remind Travis: “You’ll have to contribute to us in return, too.I hope all ends well with the taxi driving.”

“Goes well.” The driver corrected for him.

Larkin scoffed, bent over his work.

Travis shot up from the scratchy chair and his hard knee thumped the desk, causing a few papers to slip off.He apologized and picked them up, haphazardly throwing them back on top.They shook hands; thank you’s were exchanged.Travis was going to take what he wanted—he was committed to it.That’s what a man does: provides, guards, inspires, and takes what’s his.

Maybe it would distract from the downward spiral he was currently on, starring his very own mind.Inevitable, snowball effect—like the economy.

Travis was about to walk out of the intimidating building when he backtracked to the bank teller’s platform.“Can I have this?” He pointed to the bowl of hard striped candy, where the last one sat comfortably.

“Um, yes sir, go ahead.”

He grabbed it while a woman, holding the hand of her upset little boy, was about to grab it herself.The boy started crying when Travis claimed it before he could.Bickle paid no mind as he walked away with more assertion in his step.

It was the next day when Betsy was back at Travis’s door.Fifteen minutes to noon, on the dot—she was devoted to punctuality.She was told it was unlocked and she could come in.

The first thing she saw were entire new shelves, already in place and painted: “Whoa…helloooo.Okay…these are…very recent!”

Travis smiled and lifted his chin.“It took me all night.” He waved her over.

Standing on a ladder in the middle of the condo, he was holding a blue thing that resembled measuring tape.“Come over here.”

“Yes?”

“Watch this.You watchin? You gotta watch closely now.And prepare to be amazed.”

“Ok.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.”

He traced the length from where he was standing to the other end of the wall, and clicked the blue pad.It traced with chalk a perfect, straight blue line.“Ta-da! It’s ten times easier.”

“…I’ve seen that before.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Uh huh! My daddy used that a few months ago, in his garage.”

“Well, you saw it again.I’m glad it worked, because those shelves were a fucking pain.”

He stepped off the ladder.“Be careful,” Betsy warned.

“I’ve mostly been by myself, ya know, so I kept havin to stretch and stumble just to put so much of this up.” Travis said.He put his hands on his waist. “Alright, that’s all the excitement for today.Everybody can go home.”

Betsy smiled fondly: “You’re so cute.” At first, she found him to be _mysterious_ and _interesting_.Then, not too long after, she found him gross…and intolerable.Now, all she could see was how childlike he could be sometimes.The first word to come to her mind was cute.

“ _Cute_.” Travis tilted his head, but his cheeks were a bit pinker. “Wh-what’s it called, then?”

“I believe it’s called a plumb bob with a chalk line.”

“Wow.”

Betsy proudly rolled her eyes.

“I’m impressed.”

She tucked hair strands behind her ears.“I’m just an impressive person.”

She looked some more around the room, improved since she was last present.Betsy only now noticed that on the top shelf there was what appeared to be an actual bison horn.It had to be a trinket brought from the Midwest.Did Travis ever miss his home, she thought? Surely he must.At least his family—though he never talked about them.

As if he could read that part of her mind, he told her a story.“It was actually a high school teacher that taught me how to put stuff together like shelves.He was originally the art teacher, and then he took over teaching archery as well.He had this slicked back, 50s greaser hair.Cool sideburns.He was a proud survivalist, super into Native American stuff, camping, animals, hunting, and making bows and arrows.That’s why he taught archery.Oh and he had knives, too.He taught us woodwork and taxidermy.”Travis then smirked a little.“In that time, I didn’t even know what taxis were.So when I discovered the whole business in New York, I actually thought the guy ‘catching a taxi’ was talking about taxidermy for a quick minute.”

Betsy giggled.“You really must’ve lived out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Eh.” Travis shook his head.“He was my favorite teacher.Besides taxidermy I still don’t know why he taught art though…he wasn’t good at painting or nothin.” He purposely left out what did _not_ do in high school, and how much he slacked in overall education.She was a university-bred, graduate school intellectual.

“Are you ready to go?” Betsy asked.

“Almost.”

“Take your time.” Betsy primped her hair and stretched her shoulder while she leaned on the counter.Travis set the ladder back into place, and carried it under his arm to put it back into a supply closet.

He slipped on a hardier pair of boots: “How was yesterday’s work?”

“Blegh.It is what it is.So much review…so much.”She couldn’t wait until she could finally move on from Palantine’s dying campaign and move on to the next, bigger wave in politics.Especially now that the political center was heating up again as the mid-term elections grew closer.“At least there was Saturday Night Live last night.” She thought it was funny that some political figures took themselves so seriously, when at times they were more of a joke than their Saturday Night Live counterparts.

Travis went over where they would go and the instructions he had read.She could immediately feel his eyes scanning her outfit: an airy white turtleneck, a brown vest, dark reddish-magenta corduroy pants, white socks, and buckled shoes the same brown as her vest, with a bit of a thick heel.

Travis eyed the wedges: “Uh…no offense, but wouldn’t tennis shoes, or something, be a little more practical for today?”

“I thought about that.But my only pair are starting to fall apart.I can walk in these, I’m the bionic woman.” Though she sounded about as unsure as Travis.Too late to reverse stupid clothing mishaps.She could already feel the edges cutting into her ankles and tried to pretend it was nonexistent.

Travis hid a large knife under his pant leg while she took a quick bathroom break.

He was heading toward the door when Betsy stopped, remembering what she had previously wanted to say, apparently.

“Oh—I saw the _worst_ thing yesterday.”

“What?”

“Okay, well, I’ve been seeing it for a while…but it is the worst, I promise you.I have this coworker, her name is Melinda.She’s a sweet girl, but…my God, she’s _big_.I hate to say that, I try not to judge people for their bodies, and, geez, look at me—but I’ve never seen someone that big.”It was true that the majority of people seen were skinny, often malnourished. 

“So, every day, she brings in her lunch.And everyday, it’s the greasiest, unhealthiest food… _disgusting_ food.And _everyday_ , she exclaims how delicious it is.I sit there with my salads thinking…you’re gonna kill yourself with a heart attack! How can you seriously not realize that? I mean, I just look at food and I gain weight.” She sighed.“Ridiculous.Thick-headed people.Sorry, I hate to say that like I said, but it’s true.Bragging, bragging, bragging…about stuff they shouldn’t even be bragging about.And don’t even get me started on the new temp.” She had to laugh at herself.

Travis agreed, and tried to move.

“I don’t care anymore,” she continued.“I don’t.If there’s anything I’ve learned other than going over forms upon forms this past year, it’s that I have to learn to defend myself with my words, and stand by those words.I don’t care—I’m gonna say what I want.”

“Killer,” Travis commented.

“All this shit we’re going through, economic crises included—” Travis perked up at that:“—it’s causing people to lose it; I’m fairly certain.Our culture is declining, and we feel more hopeless, so this is what our society has been reduced to: endless, thoughtless, hedonistic behavior.Eating disgusting food, ego against ego, and acting like fools.Cussing each other out.”

“I, I agree.” He moved closer to the door, and she started talking again without the chance of another word in.He had to restrain himself.

“Even my own family’s fallen prey to this.I remember…it was after my appendicitis surgery.I had—have, this long, nasty scar on my abdomen.Even _after_ the pain, I was _so_ embarrassed over that scar.I felt ugly; even if I was the only one who actually had to look at it.This one night, though, I decided to stop moping…try to feel better about myself.I went into my bathroom and put on a nightgown that showed me off, you know.I let the sleeve drape down my shoulder, as I posed in the mirror. 

I finally felt like myself again…so I took out my camera, put it on the counter facing me, and took a picture, and another.I sent the two photos in the mail to my mother and my sister, telling them how great I felt again, how my life was going, how I missed them.“Top Secret,” was what they both said on the front.” Betsy folded her arms as she thought on the next part.“My sister eventually wrote back.She told me, ‘Wow, you look normal.’ I was kind of…” She suddenly made a face.“And my mom? I didn’t hear from her.I thought I never would…until one day, I did hear from her.Her letter said—‘You’re not smiling in that picture. I like it better when you smile.’ Then she said, ‘And put some clothes on.’’’ With a cat-like movement, she rolled her tongue around her mouth.“I couldn’t say I didn’t expect it.”

Travis forgot how chatty Betsy was.It mostly sounded like a whole bunch of nothing to him, but it clearly mattered to her.A woman who spoke her mind, and spoke whenever she wanted, was always an annoyance to Travis.He did like to hear how intelligent she was, however.That was a plus to anyone no matter their sex.He had to learn to accept who she was and hear her out if he wanted to keep her around, despite his fantasies about shutting a woman up.

“I’m sorry that happened, Betsy.You’re too smart for all these slithering leeches.”

She waved it off: “Meh.I don’t know why it even bothers me.I guess it says more about me than them, if anything.” She then looked at the clock. “Shit, I’ve been talking your ear off, haven’t I? I’m sorry, I’m tired…we should get going.”

At last they left, hopping into Betsy’s car.It smelled nice on the inside, with the air freshener on the mirror resembling a traffic light.Her car keys had a pink poodle hanging on the chain.

“Don’t you want to sit in the front?” Betsy turned around to Travis, who had just entered the backseat.

“Nah, I’m fine.It’s actually safer in the back.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She put on her square glasses before she started driving.Her map was laid out on her lap as Travis rattled off his memorized directions.

They weren’t on the road for very long when Betsy gasped.“Oh no.I left it. _Fuck…_ excuse my language…dammit.Travis? I have to make a quick stop at the headquarters, is that alright?”

He only shrugged.

“Am I going the right way here?” She turned, gripped her seat, and watched the back as she made a U-turn. 

She parked in front of the new headquarters.They walked out to the front door.He still carried mixed memories over her previous workplace on Broadway, where he first stalked her.

She knocked with fervor.“Come on, Phil,” she whispered.Travis stood on the corner nonchalantly, hands in his pockets.A brawny security guard finally came to the other side of the glass door.She grinned: “Phil! I need to get in!”

Travis watched her disappear behind the door, and then into the building.She sure was cozy to Palantine, wasn’t she? His suspicions wandered as he waited.Betsy meanwhile was hurrying to gather that same important file, tucking it into her purse. 

It was an hour before they reached the woodlands outside the city.Betsy was slightly on edge after a police car followed her for an entire road.Travis was almost dubiously quiet about it.

After more clarification, they found the place as well as a suitable parking spot. 

Betsy pulled out a makeup mirror from her purse to examine herself.“I keep feeling something in my eye…what is it?” She faced Travis so that he could tell her.A hair she had just fixed fell back into place with her movement.

He stared at the long, wind-blown strand of hair clinging tightly to her lower right eyelash.She had those sweeping eyelashes.

“It’s nothing.” He wore a pseudo-smile.She flashed him a real one in return.

Betsy immediately smelled the fresh air when she stepped out.It made it all worth it.

There was another smell too: one she usually recognized on the city streets, but wafted to her nose better in this climate.It was a food vendor.

She glided over to it, Travis following.The white cart had steam, with long sausages draping over its handles.Italian, Polish, German.The good kinds.The man handling it had a white apron, a white hat, and a mustache.There was toasted bread loafs and pickled toppings—all hot.

“That smells so good,” she sniffed.

“What would you like?” The man asked her.

She told him she had to get somewhere, so she didn’t have the time to eat.When they turned to leave, the man told them: “You two make a gorgeous couple.”

Neither knew how to react to that.

Betsy walked closer, more next to Travis.“I hope you’re enjoying my company.I don’t always take kindly to people like you.”

“I know I’ve always wanted a tall blonde on my arm,” he responded.

She hooked arms with him: “Then may your wish be granted, Monsieur.”

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?” She suddenly thought out loud with worry.

“You can go in there, I guess,” Travis pointed to a nearby Port-A-Potty accompanied by the sound of flies buzzing.Hand on hip, Betsy gagged and shook her head.

The hike-tour started at the bottom of a high mountain, covered in brown-to-yellow-to-green trees just beginning their blooming season.

A hairy man—definitely the hiking type—greeted everyone as they met up.“Welcome to Bear Mountain State Park, ladies and gentlemen! Great to see you all today, and great to be back in the outdoors after this freezing weather, am I right? As you know, this mountain has lots of trails…” The hiking tour began with every person getting a wristband for identification.Travis immediately tried to tear his off.Betsy reached over and took his wrist to calm him.

The long trek contained many spots with different types of birds, rocks, and trees.The guide led them along the way, pinpointing various things and informing the tourists of the land, its natural inhabitants, and its historical background.

Travis pulled out the map from his inner jacket pocket.Betsy noticed, and told him they should follow what the guide says.

“Yeah…we will,” Travis said.He was wary in a “pack,” no matter what the phrase “safer in numbers” implies!

“I hope we don’t get lost!”

“We won’t get lost.I trust my sense of direction.”

“There’s certainly a lot out here that bothers me, personally.Bears..”

“I can fight off a bear.”

Betsy laughed at Travis.“Sure.And wolves, and snakes, and fever-carrying ticks…frogs, worms…” She grossed herself out.

“It’s not the animals I’m worried about.” Travis nodded toward the figures up ahead.“It’s the people.Do you know how many go missing in these kinda places every year?”

“Well gosh Travis, why did we even come then?”

“No, no. We’re fine.Unless you wanna leave, and we’ll leave.I’ve just been tryin to reach out to old friends more lately, and make some new ones.I’m one sad bastard.”

Betsy thought about the potential of their budding “friendship,” as he put it.“We’re staying.And we’re behind.Come along now.”

Betsy would regret her decision. 

She tripped on almost everything with her clunky shoes.Travis often held his hands out to catch her if needed.They reached a steep up-climb, coated in sliding orange rocks and tree roots.Betsy stared.

“Oh God.” She let out a deep breath.“Here we go, here we go…”

She struggled her way up, wincing at every bite her tight shoes gave to her ankles.She held onto one large root for dear life as she tried to brace herself to the top.The feeling of wet mud scraping her soft pant leg made her cringe further.She blew that same bothersome lock of hair out of her face while she heaved her body.Suddenly, a branch she stood on snapped and her leg flew out.She instinctively screamed.

Some of the other hikers turned around, concerned.Travis ran over and saw that she was stuck—or at least she didn’t want to move when she clearly could.He took the knife from under his pant leg and cut a root caught on her shoe’s heel free.He used his other hand to help her up.

“Thank you,” she breathed.She tried—and failed—to get the mud off.

“Are you doing alright back there ma’am?” The guide bellowed.

“I’m good,” she yelled back.Whispering to herself, “Now.”

Then a hawk flew over her head.She scurried close to Travis, who held her close.She smiled at him, blushed, and quickly separated.“Those are good birds,” he told her for comfort.“They devour the pests.”

“I know,” she said.“I’m good. I’m so good now.”

They trudged along the trails, catching sight of a colonial museum and Perkins Memorial Tower.Betsy stopped in a tiny clearing among beautiful greenery to remove a pebble from the bottom of her shoe.She tried to balance herself on a tree, and a red squirrel bit at her sleeve.She attempted to feed him an acorn.

A hiker marched over to Betsy, fuming.“You’re holdin’ us up, lady.”

Her critical eyebrows raised.“Who are you?”

“Get a fuckin’ move on already.”

“Excuse me? Where’s the guide?” She wanted to tattle on him.

Travis walked over.“Is there a problem?” He seared into the annoyed hiker.

The hiker sized up Travis…then decided to give up.Betsy couldn’t help but like Travis’s sense of protection—so different from Tom.She also couldn’t help that she found it, and him, kind of attractive…once you neglected the _worse_ side.

Aw, Tom.She’d hadn’t yet thought about him today.It came to her that his birthday was tomorrow, March 7th.She was planning to give him that new tie and to buy him an ice cream cake.Now she didn’t know if she’d have the time, nor did she know if Tom even wanted to see her.The thought of Tom snubbing her gave her an unusual stabbing feeling.

Travis was ahead of the group.He was getting into a heated debate with the tour guide.It started when the guide was explaining the laws against hunting, and their goal to conserve the great park.

The hikers were pleased to hear it, and then Travis suddenly decided to raise his voice: “Okay, but what if the deer breed like rabbits and the prey overpopulate? Then you’d have to get rid of em, if the blue tongue disease doesn’t first.”

The guide tried to keep his smile plastered on for the rest: “I understand, but we all know hunting is dangerous for the creatures _and_ the humans who walk through here.”

“Isn’t starving them out also dangerous? What about guns?”

“Guns are not allowed.”

“What about a bolt-action with a scope…and a license for it?”

The man just kept smiling.“If you’d look to these trees, folks…”

Travis tried to get the last word in, but it came out in more of a defeated whimper.It was followed by Betsy’s exasperated groan when she heard how much farther they had to walk.

“Make it stop!”

The hiker and his wife now _both_ gave judgmental looks to Travis and Betsy.They stopped at a large boulder with a pretty creek surrounding it, water trickling from its bottom. Betsy sat down panting while the guide cheered: “We’re more than halfway guys! Keep it up!”

Betsy looked at the creek longingly.“I wish I could take a dip in that…as long as there’s no flesh-eating parasites.”

Travis looked around.Birds chirping.Surroundings normal: safe.A man in a long black coat detected.

The man had a black beard, and black hair.He was very short, and _very_ familiar to Travis.He would never forget that passenger.He barked at him, threatened his wife in an alcohol and cocaine-induced rage.In the goriest of details.And he creeped the hell out of Travis.

Perhaps even influenced him somewhat, too.

Travis suddenly remembered—he was there when he first saw Betsy as well…wasn’t he? She was in her flowing white dress, barely touching the ground as an angel sent to earth.He was—he was right there, sitting and watching her.Ogling her like she was a piece of meat.

Travis pulled Betsy up to lock arms with her again.“Let’s go.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know…I just got a bad feeling.I think we should go.”He told the guide they were leaving down a safe trail.

He didn’t have to ask her twice.He gave the man one last look, one of mixed defensiveness and pride. _I got her.You didn’t._

But when the man turned around…it was an easy mistake.He was pretty sure it wasn’t the same person he saw in the back of his taxi.

Travis rushed Betsy faster down the mountain.Betsy tried to stop, and said she didn’t even care about the shoes at this point, tearing them off.Travis ran out of empathy for her, and started to walk by himself.

Betsy ran down holding her shoes until they stopped at one of the ending points.There was a small gathering in the valley, with people, food, and games.

She finally lit up: “Would you look at that? I think I can play a game or two before we leave.How about you?”

Travis was soon watching Betsy play outdoor Skee-Ball against a teenage girl. 

“Women trying to throw.This is always fun.” Travis said softly.

Betsy ignored him, but Travis made this girlish, weak noise when she threw another ball: “Ehh.”

When the teenage girl threw her turn, Travis did it again: “Ehhh.” 

The girl angrily threw the next ball, her face red.Betsy whipped around: “Stop it!” She had hissed.

Travis was not amused.Betsy wasn’t with Tom.

Back in the parking lot, police officers were talking.They then stared at Travis.It halted them for a moment.“Why have the cops been following us all day?” She muttered to him, “Do you have something to do with this?”

“You have your secrets, and I have mine.”Betsy swallowed.She knew he was referring to the revealing information on Palantine.

She was too worn out to drive, so Travis borrowed the keys and drove them back.Of course Betsy preferred to sit up front. 

“Betsy, let’s just say you happened to find a cult…would you join them or report them?”

“What kind of question is that?”

He shrugged. “What about start a business?”

He told her they could get dinner at an expensive Chinese place in Manhattan, but they’d have to clean up first at their respective apartments.Then they would meet up at the restaurant.

—————————————— 

Betsy waited patiently inside for a long time.The red and black decor were brightened by wall lanterns.She was starved, and her feet still sore.Where was he?

She was tying the tassel on her blouse (she was so relieved to get out of her earlier clothes) when Travis stepped in.He was wearing a brown leather jacket over a nice shirt she’d never seen before, tucked into his jeans.His usually grimy hair was combed and shiny.

She complimented him as they were escorted to a table in the back…the very back.Betsy was surprised to stop at a room with a bamboo curtain over the opening.Travis opened it, smiled, and let her walk through.His eyes drifted to her plump backside while she walked in. 

He tried his best not to gawk at a woman too long like a pervert, but damn, she had a great ass.

Betsy’s eyes widened when she saw what was in front of her.A black round table held a vase of orchids and candles.There were bamboo plants potted around the table.

“Wow, Travis.This is…just lovely. You arranged all of this?”

“I did.I wanted to surprise you…and it was last minute.You’re welcome.”

Betsy thought Travis was surprisingly romantic—maybe that was another side of him.He was paying for her!

“How did you know I love bamboo?”

“Uh, I didn’t.But I saw a whole lot of it overseas.”He did, however, know she loved plants and flowers, seeing the proof in her apartment.Hence, the orchids.

“Will it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” he replied with a soft tone.

This was a time when simply going out to eat was a big deal, and one had to dress nicely and act nicely.The waiter came in with his red vest and black bow tie, cloth over his shoulder. 

Betsy soon delved into conversation after a sip of her wine.She mostly discussed recent political matters, and conflicts such as instability in Ethiopia and the Muslim Brotherhood uprisings in Syria.Travis nodded along, adding only a few things to those conversations.

She stopped to ask: “Why’d you _really_ want to go out with me?”

“I’m bored.I’ve been trying to go out with a lot of people lately.”

“It’s better than porn…I can say that, at least.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”

Betsy smiled and opened her menu.She peeked over at the lonely man reading his own to study his features.His heavy eyebrows.His dark, thick eyelashes.His straight and long nose.His sculpted lips and cheekbones.His rounded chin.His Greco-Roman features.The mole.The light tracings of stubble and a strong neck.

Behind all the roughness, he really was a beautiful man.

“Look at the food, not me.” Travis, without looking up, managed to tell what she was doing.She knew he spent almost every day watching people, but if it weren’t for that increasing attraction, she would’ve found it a tad creepy.

“I’m feeling good vibes in here.Good Feng shui.” _Not like the last time,_ Betsy thought.

“There was this one date I went on, with kind of an ugly guy,” Betsy continued.“It was upstate, but it was Western themed.It held concerts from tribute bands and rodeos, with a bull and everything.I’d go there with my little sister—I’d enter in the front door and she’d sneak in through the stables, since she was underage.‘I’m just going to see the rodeo,’ I would tell the ticket master while she snuck in.Although that night’s date didn’t end well. I had a better time with my sister.” She twirled her spoon in her wanton soup.“I’ve had my share of bad and boring dates, you name it.”

“You should’ve had better.”He knew his porno date was probably at the top of that list.

They ate their dishes with the tired hunger of the day.Betsy delicately patted her mouth with a napkin.Travis watched. “You’re so striking.Your face makes me think of a doll: painted eyebrows, cheeks, and lips…porcelain skin, and a little nose.I like dolls.”

“That’s what my grandmother said, when I was just a tiny thing.That I looked like a Kewpie doll.I don’t think I was too happy about that, because they creep me out.” Luckily she didn’t hear his last bit.

“I’m sure those other birds like Sandra and Melinda are jealous of you. You probably make them want to starve themselves.”

She snorted. “I’m not sure about that…”

“They don’t know shit.Even if they shoved it up their cunts.”

She balked, and he mumbled while chewing an egg roll, “Sorry…vaginas.”

“You’ve really become a good friend to me, haven’t you,” she told Travis, the last person she expected to be her friend.Not after the threats, the violence…all of which she knew she was tucking away for the sake of seeing what she wanted to see.For being blinded to her own idea of the “changed” Travis.

“I don’t typically go for lady friends…but I feel the same you do.”

Why did he always have to bring up her gender, like that mattered? Why was he so stuck in old-fashioned thinking, man and woman, black and white? Why couldn’t he just see her as a fellow human being, or even one of the guys, like the others at the headquarters did? She certainly chewed them out like one.

“That’s what we call mommy issues.”

Betsy quickly explained when she saw his look: “If it makes you feel any better, my mom wasn’t the best either.She likes to play this little game called ‘Let’s Ignore Betsy.’ She drinks a lot of wine, too.” She then spied her own wine glass. “I’m afraid I’m becoming more and more like her everyday.” She took a swig.

“I had a fine mother,” Travis defended.Uh oh, did she piss him off? No talking about the girl he rescued, then.

“You know what you make me think of, Travis? A Puritan.Like, in the days of old, when they did everything by the book and called the fire down on those who didn’t.”

He chuckled.“That’s what I remind you of?”

“Yeah. You have a Puritan _aura_.You just need the wide brimmed hat.It was them…actually the Pilgrims, that founded their colony and called it a ‘A City upon a Hill.’Based on something in the Bible, I think.Anyway, that’s probably my drink talking, but it’s what came to mind.”

Travis thought about that.He knew about those brands of colonists because they shared many teachings with the faith he grew up in.But he never considered himself one—he felt they went overboard.Salem as the most obvious example, in the case of the Puritans.The Pilgrims bored him.

Betsy was tired, deciding it was about time to leave.She thanked Travis for everything.

Travis almost felt a bit disappointed she was leaving, even if they had already spent so much time together.Luckily Betsy talked some more: “You said you were lonely?”

“Sometimes, sure.”

“I think…I think I am too.I think that’s why I can’t stop talking…who else can I talk to?”

“Plenty of people.You’re not alone.”

“But, who are you to say? I get lonely.I feel like I don’t have anyone.I’m either seen for my looks or used as a work tool.I’ve been with men, and I always ended up feeling empty.Like you said, the girls are jealous.Doesn’t that suggest a kind of loneliness? Another type?”

Travis considered himself God’s Lonely Man.He never once considered that God may have his female version(s).Maybe Betsy had a point, as much he didn’t want to admit it.

“How can you be lonely when you have near everybody to pick from?”

Betsy rested her face onto her hand.“I guess it’s a bit different for women…”

———————————————

It was later that night when Travis watched Betsy pour the hot water from the tea kettle into her white mugs.Her apartment was dimly lit.

“I don’t know why they didn’t serve us tea there.That Japanese place always does…in the cutest blue teacups.”Betsy loved tea.It tasted good and it was relaxing.What more could you want?She drank this cup with a cookie.

They looked at each other with growing understanding, perhaps the hope to heal their old wounds.She knew he was severely frustrated, however.“Travis…” Betsy was now encouraged to ask.

“…when was the last time you had sex?”

Travis stood there for a moment.

“Sorry, that’s too personal, I know.You don’t have to answer.”

Travis put his fingertips on the steaming teapot.He barely flinched.“It’s still hot.”

Betsy sipped in awe.It turned her on even more.

“How about we turn on some music?” She pranced over to her records in an attempt to break the ice.“I have Mott the Hoople, Blue Oyster Cult, The Coasters, The Crew-Cuts, Jefferson Airplane, The Four Lads, Pink Floyd, James Brown— _The Payback_ , Aerosmith…which is your favorite?”

All quiet on the Travis front.

“You’re too shy..”

“None of em.”That’s right: he didn’t listen to a lot of music.Strange.

He walked right over to her and Betsy’s smile disappeared.“Why’d you ask me that?” He put his hand on her arm the same way he did when trying to stop her from leaving the theater, but more gently this time.

“Don’t grab me like that…” she whispered to him.

“Then what _do_ you want me to do?”

She returned his gaze, looking at his murky, light brown eyes.Resembling coffee, or the dark woods.They were usually wet, like he was consistently on the brink of tears. 

“Huh? What do you want me to do?”

She slowly placed her hands on his chest.“I-I can’t—”

He lifted up her chin with his hand, and gave it a small rub with his thumb.“You broke my fucking heart, you know that?”

She leaned in close to his ear, whispering “What else can I say but I’m sorry.” He accepted her hug and her arms around his neck.

Betsy then drifted her mouth up to Travis’s—he was met with a kiss.He stopped for a second, but then he returned it.He always thought kissing was rather gross—a germ exchange.But this, this was kinda nice.

It wasn’t long before she said she would wait for him in her bedroom.Travis was in shock for a few minutes, wondering if he should just bail.But then his male cohorts would scorn him forever.

He walked into her bedroom, quietly closing the door as if someone might hear.She stood while she drank the last of her tea.She then started to undress in front of him.Fully naked, she motioned him over with her finger.“Well…no need to stand there, boy.” The fact that she was a year older than him became fully realized with that command.

Surely this was a fucked up Prozac dream.Perhaps a dream within a dream. 

Betsy was a bit confused, because he wasn’t jumping on her.Was he not attracted to her anymore? He did make it quite clear he preferred their platonic companionship.

Yet all of the fear, the hatred, the anger, the danger of Travis, the hesitation to fall into his web, the reality that she’d kissed two different men without telling the other…it was evaporating in her mind by the minute as she was overcome by a carnal impulse drawing her in.

Betsy just couldn’t resist the allure of a powerful man, whether it be the more elite Palantine or the more lowly Bickle.

Travis took a few steps in, and one slowly to his side.He clenched and unclenched his hands, as he often did when he was preparing to handle a weapon.He was soon pulling her close, kissing her again.He laid her down onto her own soft bed.

She was so beautiful.Every shape of her body, every delicate curve, the way her breasts and the pink nipples he’d always imagined rested at attention…it was a treat to look at.It wasn’t like a porn-star’s body: buxom and seemingly fake.This was a natural body, the imperfections clear as well.He saw the scar she was talking about.Hey, he had one too.

He noticed a bit of fat in some areas, indicating some problems in the future.But he wisely decided not to bring that up.The hair on her groin was a shade darker than that of her head, but no less smooth.He ran his hands over her: neck, breasts, belly, and mound.She shivered, goosebumps rising on her fair skin, all reflected in the light of the scented candle (she had a real taste for them) and her hazy lamp.

Travis swore he had never been this hard in his life.

He hated her not too long ago.Then forgiven her, drove her…and now here she was, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, presented in front of him. _Just_ for him.

Something was wrong, however.He shouldn’t be here.As much as he loved to think he was above others and “cleaner” then they, he felt unworthy and dirty around Betsy and in her place.Even this room was too fresh for a gutter rat like him.

This should be ending any moment now.Better make it quick, then.He took off his shirt, forced her legs open, and tugged it out.She stopped him: “Whoa, whoa, easy.This is just foreplay right now…there you go.” She guided his hands over her again.Her own hand touched his lips.

 _His_ hand traveled between her legs to make her squirm.He liked to think that constant touching of wheels and gears made him adept at fingering. 

She dragged her fingers down his chest, raking the wiry tuft of hair in the middle.Then she led her long nails down his trail: from his navel to his pubic hair.She gently scratched his bush, which sort of, for whatever reason, reminded her of black bear fur. 

He groaned.

She saw his erect penis.She bit her lip before deciding to stroke it or not.Did it have…a _slight curve_ to it?

Travis was starting to get anxious.He looked down at his member.Men always worried about their size, which he thought was unimportant and silly.Surely he was a good size, at least an average size? Suddenly it mattered!

Travis had no idea why his erections always hurt.It shouldn’t hurt.Masturbation, for quite a while, had been a painful experience and so was far in between.

“Let me…hold on,” Travis braced himself on the edge of the bed frame.He looked down—flaccid.“God dammit.”

He rushed into the adjacent bathroom.Betsy sat very confused, and very hurt.Maybe she still smelled from the walk…is that why he didn’t want her?

Travis furiously jerked himself.“Come on…” He had a habit of talking to his body, and he tried to fight back the pain.But this wasn’t allowed. 

He cannot touch her.

He came out, his clothes back on.“I’m so sorry…I’m not sure what that’s all about.” He awkwardly chuckled and his eyes flashed open.“Fuck, this is going great!”

“As long as you’re ok.” Betsy was a bit alarmed.

He stepped over to her.“This is going to sound weird, but…can you…run your fingers through my hair? Tell me that you love me?” She did what he wanted, but something was almost disturbing about it.He was leaning over her, he grunted, and his arm was starting to crush her shoulder.

She felt something wet hit her sternum.

“Um, Travis…are you crying?”

He was horrified at his own tears.He violently tried to wipe his eyes. “I think I have to…I have to leave.I’m sorry…this isn’t happening tonight.” There was a heavy sigh.

She gazed at him in disbelief. 

“Goodnight.”

He hustled out the door, heart beating fast, as his dream was turning into a nightmare.He hadn’t cried in literal years.What kind of absolute _loser_ cries during…and Betsy…

After he left, Betsy took out the stuffed elephant that Tom won her at the fair from the closet in a sad daze.She curled up with it in her bed.Her own tears fell onto her linen pillow.

Travis prowled the street.It suddenly seemed steep, like the hike.Vertigo made his surroundings slightly jostle around him until he shook his head.He had to keep climbing upward.

It was like climbing up a hill.


	29. Kris Kristofferson

Adam hated Chinese finger traps as a kid.Years later, he was beginning to forget why he bought one from the drug store, proceeding to stick his fingers into it.Very mature, Adam.

Adam struggled while he sat on the couch in he and his mother’s apartment.The TV had just been turned off.“Stupid…thing.”He threw back his head and sighed.“I thought these were supposed to be easy…I remember em being easy.”

Oh—that was why he bought it.He’d been on a serious kung fu kick lately, sneaking out late at night to the Chinese theater and watching martial arts movies subtitled in Cantonese and dubbed in English.He invited Shawn with him one night, and they were almost caught by their parents by “accidentally” breaking into their own houses at the crack of dawn.Last night, Adam had driven his mom’s car all the way to the big theater in Chinatown to watch the newest Hong Kong flick.At that time of night, it was packed.And the rest of the audience was Chinese-American.They always let him in, however.Maybe it had to do with his last name.

The “Chinese” part of its name must have been why he picked up this grating device.That, or the on-and-off stress recently.

The past week, in fact, he had taken driving lessons at school.He felt more “allowed” to drive the night before.He enjoyed driving and learning, even if he found the instructor to be rather mean.He showed signs of a “potential speeder,” apparently.

Due to his late night crusade, he yawned before he spoke up.“Go get the scissors Christina.Help me out here.”

Christina leaned on the wall next to him, arms crossed.She had come over for an early morning viewing of _M*A*S*H_.It was their favorite television show at the moment, but they both missed last week’s episode.

“Keep trying,” she encouraged.“You got it in the bag.” Then she herself yawned into her elbow.

“The yawns are contagious this morning,” Adam chirped.

He could tell just by looking at her face how very tired she was.She was tired for the past _two weeks_.She was slowing down at work, forgetting things, she was complaining more frequently of her pains, and she even rejected weed, suddenly bothered by the smell.He would let her sit down at certain times, and he came to her defense when she was yelled at for sitting down during an extremely busy hour.Christina felt a little bad about it.After all, she was the master and she made her apprentice take burdens.Yet she didn’t say a word about what had caused all of it in the first place.If they weren’t such good friends, and he didn’t respect her privacy as much as he did, it may not have gone so smoothly.

“I stayed up so late…I don’t even remember when I hit the sack _,_ ” he told her.

“Same thing here.”

Adam looked at her with wonder.“How do you sleep?”

“Hanging upside down.”

He rolled his eyes.“No, I mean…how do you get any sleep when you keep going to bed late, then wake up early for work? Why torture yourself?”

She completely dodged his implications.“Speaking of torture…where’s the painkillers?”

“In that cabinet over the island, over there.”

He grunted in success when he beat the finger trap, feeling the release.He threw it on the coffee table.

His mother was at the store.He was waiting to eat breakfast with her when she returned on this Saturday morning.He hoped she would bring back a pastry or two, but he also knew she was pushing them to start eating healthier.He didn’t want fucking porridge again, that’s all he knew.Whatever it was.

Adam told Christina about his driving week, and his possible plans for the future.Even at sixteen, he was intimidated by college and living apart from his mother—if not only because he was her last vestige of their former life.She grew so attached to him over that long period of mourning.He craved independence, but he didn’t know where else he would fit in, where else he would be a necessary figure.He worried over forming relationships as well.His friends now were few.Somehow, someway, whoever came too close would find out the truth about him;his cursed family.He could picture it in his mind like a racing, fiery car crash.

Christina gave her usual advice: reasonable points along with snide remarks no one asked for.She brought up that she was and is very close to her family, especially her mother, and lived with her aunt and then her uncle for a time.She, too, had to be wary around others due to her past. 

Adam remained perplexed over his upcoming path to adulthood.He never would go along a perfectly normal path, although he had grown used to this fact over his lifetime.

He gripped his stomach.His hunger couldn’t wait.“God, I just wanna eat!”

Christina entered the kitchen next to the living room.“I haven’t broken the fast either.I guess I could, uh, make you something.Like scrambled eggs, with some hot sauce.”She picked up an avocado, foreign-bred and rare in these parts.“I could slice this up too.”

“That’s awfully nice, but, no thanks.” Adam forced himself to say it through his coming-of-age anguish.“I’ll make my own breakfast.”He resented being an only child, but she became the closest thing he had to an older sister.

Adam started trying to rip up the finger trap.“I think this is more fun than the thing itself.”

“I like to make crafts and games out of my straw wrappers,” Christina responded.Usually because she was bored and her hands liked to fiddle—which would be the majority of the time.

“I’m not too big into games, cards, ping-pong.I prefer drawing.”

There was another reason why they were both up, and in this room, together. 

Travis Bickle would be coming over any minute now.After Travis left Barton’s and before he was arrested, he drove to Adam’s.Without much explanation, he climbed up the fire escape, made Adam let him in, and persuaded the boy to hold onto a few of his weapons.Adam didn’t want to refuse him, so he frantically hid the dangerous machines under his bed.He tried heartily not to think about it.

Now he was coming back.Adam told Christina about it at the depot.She swore that she would be right by his side when Travis came over.After all, she made it quite clear that she wouldn’t allow Travis and Adam to interact alone.Only if she was there.

Travis sent a letter, which Adam had to hide once he received it, explaining that he would be there that morning.He had moved away from the complex recently, but he needed to stop by anyway to settle certain matters.

Travis was quite content when he drove under the large brick and barred entrance into the neighborhood. _“57 ST.,”_ it said in bold white letters at its head.11th Avenue.The Pepsi sign still hanging. _His_ grounds for so, so very long.He maneuvered around the lines of parked cars and taxis, walked past degraded bars, to find the grungy, besmirched building of low-brow apartments.

Adam had just joked to Christina when they heard a hard knock: much like a thumping one does with the side of their hand.Adam sharply turned to face her for a signal, and she gestured to the door with her head.She scooted a bit more behind the counter.Gulping, Adam rose to open the door.Perhaps it was only his mother, back from the store.

“Morning!”

“Hey.” Travis let himself right in.“Where are they?” His voice had a low reverb, almost a grumble to it.

“Hold on a second.”Adam strode into his room.The bed had a small gap under it where he had to reach with his entire arm underneath.He pulled out the paper bag, checking the contents.He felt like a drug or weapons dealer…maybe something in his father’s work.He swallowed, and held onto it with the deepest care.He walked over his objects and clothing on the floor to the awaiting owner.

Travis had gripped onto the back of the couch.He kneaded its spine while he took in the nostalgia, seemingly too recent to be nostalgic.

He could feel Christina’s presence behind him.He swiveled his neck to see that she was standing in the kitchen area.He gave her a small nod and a quick, boyish half-smile.It made her feel weaker for some reason. 

She busied herself with the avocado again, and refused any further eye contact.Travis straightened a pillow before Adam burst in with a specially handled bag. 

He handed it to the cabbie, who opened it, felt inside, and was soon satisfied.He carefully drew the .44 Magnum out.Its black shelling gleamed in the dull sunlight.

“Finally reunited with my one true love.” Travis kissed the barrel.Adam goggled.

“Wouldn’t you, g-get into trouble…with those?” Adam had no idea about Barton or that Travis had been arrested and detained for a short period of time, only that the authorities were “inspecting apartments” for unspecified reasons, and Travis needed to hide these weapons.

“Not now, I shouldn’t.Thanks to you.Thanks for your help man.”

“You’re welcome.But, but they never came to _our_ apartment…and what if they come back?”

“I don’t think they will.Just, no need to worry, alright.You’re a real trustworthy kid, ya know that? I think I like that.I like that a lot.”

Adam finally smiled.“Ah, thanks! I try to be.” Adam was still wary over possibly becoming friends with the man who took out his father.Though he was feeling an increasing amount of anger at his own father, as of late.He was progressively trying to distance himself from his lineage, even if it also slightly hurt to do so.He never wanted to betray his family, but simply couldn’t lay on his bed day after day, his mother calling him a lazy shit, gazing at his ceiling and wondering how many people his father hurt.Had molested.What the point was.What _Adam’s_ point was.Why was he even born? 

“Why exactly do you need a humongous revolver like that—though—again?” Although he wouldn’t deny he found it _cool_.He had to stop himself from trying to touch it while it was in such close proximity.But the thought of it being used on his father made him too sick to continue.

“Training.For whatever and whoever comes,” Travis said in what may have been serious, or a joke.

Adam put his hands on his waist.“You’re always training or preparing for _something_.The only thing you’re training for is more training, man.”Travis re-packed.“Maybe I could drive you to some bad drug dens, and then you’d get it,” he told Adam.

“Oh I’ve seen some shit already.Never go in a bad hookup joint with a shady weed dealer and wooden windows.I learned that the hard way…once—don’t tell my mom.But yeah, I’m in…let’s go talk to some drug lords with _that_ monster.” Adam was admiring the same gun he had doubted earlier.

There was then a slow clap next to them.Christina had slunk ever-so-quietly to the corner they were standing near.“Brilliant,” she droned.“Brilliant.”

She rubbed her forehead, leaning on the wall.“Now, when this adventure of yours pans out, would there ever be any afterthought on what could always happen to your bodies? You know, when they’re dismembered and your arms and legs are hanging off balconies, your heads Ziploc’d and stuffed in suitcases, and your yellow torsos floating around in the Hudson River? And I’d have to be the one to break the news to your parents? Would you think about that first…at least for me, guys?”

Adam and Travis looked at each other, and shook their heads.“I don’t wanna think about that,” Adam hummed.

“Because that’s what happens when you mess with drugs,” Christina scolded sarcastically.

“In the Dominican Republic, maybe…sheesh, Christina.” Adam rubbed his growling stomach.“Can we not go just _one_ day without your macabre details? I’m trying not to lose my appetite here.” He pronounced macabre as “muh-kob.”

“I think you mean _macabre_.” Her pronunciation was “muh-kah-bruh.”

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” Travis interjected, “but do you remember all I said on the phone?”

Adam turned to Christina when Travis asked her that.She became quite flustered, her eyes quickly darting back and forth between them.Travis was putting her in the spotlight, over something _very_ private. 

“Yes…uh, yes…I remember.What about it?” Her neck was suddenly itchy.

“Are you up to talking some more? Maybe outta here?”

“Uhh, I’ll just give you another call when I can.” She cocked her head at him: “Why aren’t you at your appointment to trim and bleach your asshole?”

Travis ignored her and reverted back to his offer: “You scared or somethin?”

Christina snorted.“No.I’m not much of an expert on ‘scared.’”

“Mmm…” Now Adam was turning on her.“I know for a fact that you’re scared of loud noises, driving fast in your car, when people you don’t know call you, ouija boards, and rollercoasters.Oh, man—that’s right.” He started laughing before he even started.“Last, last summer—you remember? When Ma took us to that amusement park, and you finally agreed to go on one coaster—‘Speed Demon.’I swear Travis, I’ve never seen pure terror on someone’s face like that before.I mean all of the color drained from her face, her eyes bulged, and she clung for dear life onto that bar. 

Me and my mom kept trying to reassure her, but she started crying.Bawling like a baby.Now I’d only seen her cry once before…but gosh.I did feel a little sick on that ride myself, but I was honestly mostly worried about her. 

I thought she was gonna pass out.Her hands were white.She couldn’t move them for several minutes she had gripped so damn hard.And a little kid that was on the ride with us, totally calm.He looked at her weird the whole time.So I know that.And—”

“Shhh..ut it.” She snarled at him, but then chuckled a bit at herself.“It was an adrenaline rush, okay.That’s the point.”

As interesting as that was, Travis had to interfere again and get her to speak with him alone.She agreed after another push.Adam was quite conflicted, but she had bravely said that she would deal with him herself.She wondered if they could eat breakfast together and urged Adam to come, but Adam said he should stay there so his mother wouldn’t be worried if she should come back to an empty house.Travis was annoyed with her for that.He would surely have his time with Adam later.

Adam licked his lips.“Hey, Travis, you mind if I talk to Christina for a minute before you leave?”

“Alright.I’ll be waiting right outside.” Travis smiled in an unnatural way at Adam before leaving through the door with his bag.Adam’s own expression immediately changed.He marched over to Christina.

“What is wrong with you? What happened to staying away from him?”

“Chill out.” She zipped up her jacket.“I hung out with him not that long ago.I think there’s more there that meets the eye…even a second chance.He actually has interesting world-views, and some innovative ideas.And his work ethic is rather admirable, if I do say so myself.” Was it just him, or were they “hanging out” more and more over the recent months?

“Admirable? I thought he was, you know…a _murderer_.”

“Of course he’s a wacko, but he’s a relatable wacko.Not someone who hoards boxes, inserts jars into their ass and smothers themselves in their own shit, but understandable, and stuck.I kind of, _kind of_ feel bad for some, certain digs I made at his expense.” Adam’s mouth puckered.He had never, not that he could remember, at least, heard her express guilt over her actions—or take back her words for anyone.

“Wow…you’re in love.”

“I mean it.There’s a multitude we can discover about someone’s true nature and their unique vision if we just stopped…ah, never mind.Keep playing with your kiddy paper.Watch the drool while you’re at it.”

“Why can’t you just talk to me about it?”

“What?”

“ALL this. Whatever the hell it is.”

“You’ve been worrying all week…there isn’t anything more you need to worry yourself sick over.Trust me man.”

“Fine, then.Go talk to your boyfriend _Twwavis_ because obviously you tell him everything anyway.I’m no longer necessary.”

She lowered her tone: “Adam…”

“I’m not offended, seriously.Go on.I’ll see you Monday.” He crossed his arms and sniffed.

Christina sighed, opening the door.“Get something to eat.”Before closing it, she added: “By the way, we’re not dating.”

Adam stayed unsure of what was ahead, and what was currently happening.She almost sounded like she was indoctrinated into the Church of Bickle.

————————————

Travis felt especially nervous walking in the park later that day, in the afternoon.Betsy didn’t mention where she was, but he found where she was sitting, nonetheless.On a bench, feeding pigeons with bread crusts.

She’d called him an hour or so ago, telling him to meet her in the safest spot of Central Park.He drove all the way down Park Avenue to do so.He wrung his hands before he sat down next to her, under skinny trees.

She pushed up her sunglasses and sat back.“You made it.”

“How are you doing?” Travis pursed his lips.

“I’m alive, so that’s always good.How are you doing, Mr. Travis?”

“I’m…” Travis stuttered,“…good, mighty good.Listen, about…the last time…”

“I’m so, _so_ sorry,” She suddenly turned to him with sincere heartache.“I shouldn’t have…I really shouldn’t have pressured you into anything.I feel horrible, oh my God.”

“Don’t.Don’t feel horrible.I’m the bum who ruined it.”

“Oh, quit it.Obviously…a thing _happened_ to you in that moment, and it can definitely happen—to any of us.If I’d known…”

“I should’ve warned you beforehand.”

“Why did you have to get up and leave, though? That hurt me; I’m not going to lie to you, that hurt me.”

“I’m sorry.I just had to get outta there.Nothin personal.”

She dapped a corner of her eye with her sleeve.Her hands gestured to her own self: “Is it me?”The sunglasses came down.“I crossed the line, I know.But, is there…something wrong with me, specifically? You can tell me, I’m a big girl.I can handle it.”

“No, no, no.” He put a reassuring hand to her shoulder.“This is all me, I promise you.”

She sighed, crossing her legs.“I hope you at least enjoyed our little _excursion_.And the free kiss at the end.” She certainly enjoyed it, even if the finale was quite upsetting.

“The funny thing is, I can’t seem to get that kiss out of my head.”He smiled warmly.

Betsy’s usual confidence was slightly restored.She felt a bit more powerful.“Good, good.”

Travis suddenly brought up seeing her bare feet at the trail, as a 16th century man would do over a woman’s ankles: “You’ve got the loveliest feet.I was lookin at em that, that time.I like the color of your toenails too.”He pointed in direction to the chipping fuchsia nails.Every movement he made was in a sense of direction, be it faulty or accurate.

Betsy thanked him, but she was a bit weirded out.She hoped he didn’t have a foot fetish (she found feet _and_ fetishes to be nasty), but she certainly wouldn’t be surprised if he did.She had to keep that judgment to herself, nevertheless.He could be sensitive and finicky behind his stoic exterior.“Fickle Bickle,” the amused Betsy thought up.

“To change the subject…” Betsy allowed it and Travis went on.“I was watching this story last night.It was about Gary, Indiana.It used to be a huge steel-producing town, and there were reports that it’s going down so bad, it could be a ghost town within a couple a’years.They were sayin that the economy shifted, these racial disparities and tension, infrastructure was poor…it’s crime-ridden, unemployed, and not a lot of their population are even educated.What struck me the most, though, is that it showed the before and after photos.It was bustling and lively in the older pictures…then, next thing you know, there’s boarded up windows, empty homes and businesses, and it’s just…poor, and almost desolate.They said many of the worker are moving elsewhere.It’s only hurting them more.”

“Hmm—I had no idea.But, why are you telling me this?” Betsy asked.

“What if that’s happening to New York City? As big as it is here, I’m sure such a situation is still possible.Look how shittin’ horrible it is…just look around you, Betsy.”

“I wouldn’t jump that far.This is the Big Apple.We’ll heal, we’ll live.These are just bad times…but they can never stay too long.”

“I don’t know…” Travis’s gaze wandered to a couple fighting some distance away.It was pretty damn bad for a good while now, and it seemed to have worsened.“Too many maggots and worms in one apple.”No matter how “big” it was.

“Infrastructure is easier to predict when it comes to how—” Betsy struggled to voice her educated opinions over sudden bleating of car honks and sirens.

“I don’t know much about that,” Travis said shyly before she could even finish.

“If it _were_ to get to that level…I’m moving back upstate with my parents.” Betsy spoke quietly now.

“I’ll find a good place for us,” Travis teased. “I can carry you into my cab bridal style and I’ll take ya far away from here.Before you have to whore yourself out for change.”

“What do you think politics is?” She laughed in an airy, musical way.

Travis’s thoughts went back to his seething paranoia over Palantine and Betsy.“I sure hope you’re joking,” he said, barely smiling and staring into nowhere.

“Travis?”

“Mm?”

“I think we both have c-certain problems, that we need to work out on our own time, and I’m not entirely sure…I’m not entirely sure if we should continue…what we did.”

Travis nodded, but his face was hardened.“I understand.It’s too fast.”

“Well, more than that…”

“I need to see the doctor, clearly.But once I’m good to go, we can—”

“You know what? You’re right. Let’s just…just slow down for a bit.Kay?” She straightened. “I really like you.I really, really do.I’m telling you God’s honest truth here—but you need some time for yourself, and that’s okay.I do as well.”

“Is this because I gunned down three men?” And a lot more, he thought.

She paused, opening her mouth.“That nev-never came into my mind…but…I can’t be the Bonnie to your Clyde, you know?”

“If you say so.”

Travis fell quiet.Betsy rubbed her nose at an anxious pace— _must be the blooming trees_.“That’s the green I need!” She suddenly exclaimed, pointing down at a full patch of grass.

“What is?”

“ _That_ green.That’s the shade I need for the parade coming up.”She saw his inquisitive look and explained: “The city’s throwing its massive St. Patrick’s Day parade that it’s done almost every year…the oldest one in the country.We’ve arranged for Palantine’s team to get its own float, _really_ only due to the precious pockets of donors.It’s only in five days!” She picked grass blades.“We originally went with this awful green, like a vomit green…until I put my foot down on that.We need this sort of velvety, deeper green.” 

“All that for a float you’re just gonna tear back apart?” Travis wondered aloud.

“It allows us to greet our voting citizens on a much more personal, down-to-earth level.If the drunks don’t tear it up first.”

“That’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb! It’s a _cultural_ thing.Although, if we weren’t getting any publicity out of it, I could care less.”

“I hope it all goes well.”

She squeezed his hand, which he almost moved away from her.“Thanks, Travis.So, we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

They heard a loud crashing sound.It prompted Travis: “Did you walk here?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t I drive you back? I’d cut off my defunct cock in my own agony if I left you out alone in this place.”

She laughed.“Wow.Yeah, you can certainly do that.”They walked close together to Travis’s car while Betsy told him the recent news: “I have to start cooking early-early tonight, since my sister and her husband are visiting.Some chicken dish…wish me luck.”

Travis was not too happy with Betsy after she tried to cut him off like that.He knew he did something terribly wrong, but he expected her to forgive him, and they could build on their relationship from there…or however it’s done, in any type of relationship.It was ironic, because he was the one who first laid down the law regarding their strict friendship.He had moved on from her and could no longer be swayed under her influence.He was a free man and she, nor any other woman, had control.

However, he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying her skin, her hair, her voice, her atmosphere, and her scent whenever she stood by his side.If he could somehow store her essence in a vial and huff on it, he would.

—————————————

Travis was prepared.

At least, he definitely hoped he was.

He had planned this to be an easy engagement, but it was becoming a maelstrom in his grated mind.It all seemed so stupid to him now.If he could only explain it the way it should be explained, unfold his plans the way it had unfolded for him many months ago, perhaps they would listen, and not deride.

He thought the overview went well.He was forming a group.Or some breed of it.

The sky became dark along the shadows of the buildings—dusk.Various lights from various stores, shops, cafes, and theaters illuminated the puddled streets and the dripping gutters.The urban animals made their appearances known.Travis avoided a prostitute while he led Adam and Christina to a cafeteria frequented by taxi drivers.He had agreed to a driving expedition that day from the company, after they decided he was too crucial of a worker to lose. 

They were going to meet Travis’s taxicab friends.This was the only time slot where they could all see each other at the same time; even so, there were no guarantees everyone would be there.Adam and Christina weren’t completely cleared on why this was necessary, but it was obviously important to Travis.

“Well, well…look who it is, boys!” Wizard beamed when he saw Travis again.

“Wiz!” They shook hands and arms in a manly way.

“Killer! How’s it?” Charlie T then shook his hand as well.Doughboy grinned and nodded: “Hey ya, Travis!”

“Hey guys.I hope I’m not barging in on anything.”

“Pfft!” Wizard patted the table.“Sit down.We gotta catch up.”

Travis took a seat at the cheap booth, when the rest noticed the two people waiting at the front.He thrusted back up to push them forward to the table.

“I see you brought guests,” Wizard snarked.“I recognize one.” He gestured to Christina.

“Right…these are a couple of my friends.Adam Giordano to your left and Christina Valdez to your right.”

The cabbies gave their vague “hellos,” and Adam felt uncharacteristically shy.He saw cabbies almost everyday, but he was intimidated by their language, their mannerisms.These were jaded grown men. 

“Sit down over here, son.” Charlie T scooted to make a place for Adam.Adam smiled, and sat next to the cool man with a curly beard and black sunglasses.He wore them inside!

Christina then waved at them.Wizard sighed: “Long time, no see.” He sipped on his drink, a bit annoyed.

She faced one cabbie in particular.“Hello, Doughboy.”

“Hello.” It was a weak reply.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.How’s it hanging?”

“It’s good, sometimes….Look at you, in your little hat.”His eyes darted upwards to the pilot-brimmed cap he was wearing.She had a hefty smile, she was biting into her lower lip, and her eyes were scrutinizing him.Doughboy took a deeper swig than Wizard.He now remembered that he once called her a “dominatrix.”

She, apparently, still had a thing for him, married or not.

“I wanted you all to meet,” Travis spoke, “because I was gonna explain this idea I have.Hopefully you’ll listen.”

“How many hours is it gonna take?” said Doughboy.

“It shouldn’t be long.Are you up to it?”

Wizard shrugged.“Ah, why the hell not? Shoot, my man.” Travis was self-conscious in front of the other customers, as well as the front employee.He went over to the latter, whispered something, and offered a good amount of money.

The man counted it, then yelled to the other diners that they had to leave—only those hired by the closest—and biggest—taxi company were allowed at this time.The customers grumbled, questioned.They rolled their eyes.The majority shuffled out, while the employee goaded the rest to leave.He said they would be free for the rest of the week.

Travis gave him extra change for the trouble.He returned to the expecting table.

They watched him take out his clipboard from under his elbow.He checked through the papers and mumbled a word to himself.“Basically…” He froze for a minute.

“…I have an idea for a small business…that I could start myself.It’s a publishing business, that would deal with writing and its production.I was given frightening news about the state of the economy the other day.I thought, how can I make sure that I’m secure throughout all this shit? And I read a book about the benefits of self-starting, self-employment, and self-teaching.”

Wizard rubbed his chin: “So you want to write children’s books?” The others laughed.

Travis bent over the clipboard, now on the table.When he was done sketching, he lifted it up for them to see.“What’s this?” The pencil pointed to the happy family.

“Who knows,” Wizard responded.

“No. You know.You just said it.”

“Looks like stuff my daughter used to draw,” Doughboy added in.

“What is it, Adam?”

Adam tensed up: “It’s a…children’s book?”

“Yes! Exactly.Well, not exactly, but close enough.This is your life.A children’s book.Do you know what children do? They like to play and imagine.We expect them to grow out of it, right? To be able to take care of themselves later? To know that reality is something _totally_ different?”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table.

“Well what if they never do grow out of it? What if that’s just a fantasy in of it…uh, in of it self?” He took the paper off the clip and held it up.“This is what our perceptions and expectations look like.”He passed the drawing, letting every person look at it (which they did with little care).He took it back, tearing the drawing in half in front of them.“And there’s your grand ending.”

Wizard blinked at Travis: “You okay, bud?” Doughboy and Charlie T had to cover their mouths to hide their laughter. “Let me guess, you haven’t eaten today? Why don’t you take the time to eat with us before our shifts start back up.”

Travis’s natural awkwardness and desire to fade into the background was starting to take hold again: “Look, this is kinda hard for me to do this in front of you all, I would appreciate it if—”

Two other cabbies, Ralph and Ranbir, had just stepped into the cafeteria.“Empty,” Ralph observed with a smug look.They came over when they noticed the group.

Travis had to again explain everything, as impatience among them was clearly growing.Ralph noted that he wouldn’t have too much time to talk, but he was ready to go on a personal tangent over his last passenger and his wishy-washy girlfriend.Travis tried to regain control over the situation. 

Ranbir however, was quiet, munching on a kaiser roll and waiting to hear this.

“What I’m trying to say…what I’m trying to say is that we’re in some deep shit right now.So deep, that—that I can think of little ways on how to get out of it.I thought about moving away from the city for a long time.But, ya know, we can’t escape from our problems, right? We have to face em.After I saved another human being from a life no human being deserves, I knew I had a purpose here—I need to stay a bit longer.And, Wiz, what you told me about being a man…and I’m paraphrasing, about how his job becomes what he is…I thought it was some dumb shit, I admit, but it’s startin to make more sense to me.I am my job, in a lotta ways.But not just the physical job itself, but what that job represents.Survival.”

Wizard was impressed by his speech, if not still a bit confused.“Okay…but how are we supposed to ‘survive’ other than making money? Because the longer you make me wait here, the less ‘survival’ points I get, know what I’m saying?”

“It’s not just about jobs and making money.It’s about restoring virtue, and making it come across as ‘swell’ to the herd again.Something has to change, or we’re gonna fall into our pit of sin, recklessness, and decomposition.Unless you want this entire American system to fail, flat-line, collapse into nothing, etcetera.And the next thing ya know you’ve got hungry, jobless citizens trying to ravage your home and your families.”Travis suddenly grabbed a carton and threw it into a trash bin across from him.“Or else we’re worth less than sewage.”

Doughboy straightened: “I work with money; even my excursions into the black market.I think you’re certainly right that this isn’t what it’s about…hell, I don’t even know it’s about to you.”He glared at Travis, who was now challenging him with his eyes: “What do we do, then? We can’t change a lick.Stop trying to scare us with your doom and gloom, Henny Penny.The sky ain’t falling just yet.”

“I don’t mean to scare you…I simply wanted to see if I can poke you with a stick. Get you movin along with me.And the fact that there is a black market only proves my point.It’s immorality.”

“You’re saying we need something else to rely on other than taxi driving?” Ralph concluded.

“Damn right.That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well, I need to get going, speaking of taxi driving…and get a sundae.” An annoyed Doughboy got up to leave when Travis, a quieter member, spoke in the most assertive voice they’d ever heard from him:

“You can gorge yourself—or you can stay here, listen to me, and have your life change for the better.”

Charlie T put down his cigarette: “Damn, Killer.”

Travis, proud with himself, gestured Doughboy to sit down.Which he did.“For ten more minutes,” he had said.

“The real plight was the friends we made along the way,” Wizard teased.Although, he noticed Travis’s more advanced use of vocabulary and phrasing.And he noticed his overall tendency toward big-thinking.He clearly researched and went through this extensively, for quite a while.It must have really meant something to him.

“I mean…yeah, I’m gloomy.I’ve always been gloomy.But I’ve had fucking enough of the cesspool I see everywhere I look.Don’t you? And we can’t fix anything with just desecration right? I don’t know…maybe I’m wrong…I’m wrong a lot.I think I have a point, though—invest in yourself, not in institutions, and who knows what could change or become valuable.Um, baby steps, right?”

“I can’t keep this place closed for you all night, man!” The person behind the counter hollered.

Wizard sighed, tracing his thumb over the can of beer.“Tell us about the business.”

“This is what I had in my head,” Travis enthused, “We start a publication company.We sell books, magazines, and newspapers based on the cabbie experience.It’ll probably be easier to start with a newspaper.Each one of us has a section to write, or a book to write, about their personal experiences.We document everything we’ve seen, good and bad, and show it to the public.Show them what we have to go through, _for them_.We’ve probably seen more of this city than they have, anyway.Once they know what they’re dealing with, and how we’ve dealt with it, and _who_ we’ve driven, their eyes may open.Over time, we introduce the concepts I just described, involving character and skill improvement.Since we’ve already won their trust, they should begin to follow.We tell them what’s gone on, we give them the tools to help.Eventually, some tide will turn, whether it’s exactly what I wanted or not.It could be a complete failure…but something’s gonna change…I can feel it in my bones, man.The pendulum’s gotta swing until one thing or another drops.I just want to make my mark before that happens…or prevent it from happening.”

Wizard nodded.“That’s… _quite_ a blueprint you’ve got there, indeed.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Travis how unlikely, borderline fantastical his ideas were.How he exaggerated the negative.This was a mentally ill person; who had shed blood with _his own hands_.

However….

He also knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.Wizard, at some point, was much like Travis.He hated what surrounded him, choked him living.Woe to New York City.As he aged, it was more so the country that frustrated him.After that, the world.But he wisened up, realizing that you couldn’t waste your time fretting and flailing about.You had to live your life while you still had it.Because everyone was doomed, and everyone was on their own paths to just one goal: death.The only goal that mattered to merciless time.Live your life.

Travis had a point behind his mania, nevertheless.Wizard admired his new mindset, but he was struggling trying to figure out how it would even succeed.

“I opened a business account, I talked with a banker, and I think I should be protected from lawsuits and ensured for tax write-offs.I’m already going through a shit ton of paperwork with an agent.I would of course need all of your information and legal protections as well.I just have to register it, figure out the payment options for you guys, and maybe look into an LLC.

But I have the location—it’s a new but small space on Madison Street…let me tell you this has been two years of planning and stress, but damn I think it’s finally comin together.Oh and our ideas could apply to truck, limo, and uh, other types of drivers too.If we ever get that popular, I guess.I’d like to hear from the poor suckers who’ve had to drive the top percent.”

After his words hushed the room, the questions began to fire.

“Wouldn’t driving make the gas shortage worse?” Mused Charlie T.

“I didn’t say we’d be driving more.Only that we’d have this to rely upon.If it makes more people become taxi drivers, I wouldn’t encourage it, but it might also help boost jobs.”

Doughboy joined in: “How are we supposed to fit all this into our precious time? We already work tiring hours, and we have families to take care of and lives to live.”

“If you’re not up to it, I’ll try to find others.I think we could take it gradual, and try to fit into everyone’s schedules if needed.”

“None of us are writers, or at least good ones.” Ralph spoke for all of them.

“That’s why we would have to practice.”

At least one of the cabbies rolled their eyes.

“I-I don’t always know what I’m saying,” Travis stuttered, “but I think I’m finally making sense in my mind, and hopefully in yours, too.Who else can we depend on, but us alone? You can’t look to the state or politics for salvation.You can’t make godlike qualities out of your enemies.You have to find something to hold onto, to anchor your vision and ensure your future.In religion this is called faith.”

Wizard scoffed at that: “Please, Travis.I’m not a believer in religious bullshit, let’s not go there.Now don’t you start spouting words like ‘Rapture’ and ‘End Times’ and the ‘Mark of the Beast,’ okay? Babylonian sluts and whatnot?”

“Forget I said religion then.I just mean…”

“Don’t get me wrong, I grew up Catholic,” Wizard continued, “but I’m not making myself sit here just for it to come to that.”

“I’m Catholic!” Adam declared to Wizard.

Charlie T and Ralph agreed, as they were also more non-religious.Ranbir was, and Doughboy still held remnants of his Baptist upbringing (from his home state of Alabama).

Travis sighed.He was doing well so far.His thoughts and his words were coherent, not that of a deranged person.If only they would at least treat him as though that were the case.“You can do whatever you want, I’m not the caring type.But I think this could be a really good plan if we wanted to make the plunge.It would be on our minds, and our hearts.” Travis pondered for a second.“And I’m not suggesting that any of what we’re dealing with is new, even if it’s been re-packaged.Nothing new under the sun.But we can learn.”

He tucked—banished—his clipboard under his hand, suddenly ashamed of it.“History is for the meek.That’s what I was taught.We can save ourselves…no one else will.”

He took a seat at the booth, and gently folded his arms onto the top.His voice was now unsuspecting: “That was all.” He no longer wanted any trouble in the remaining time left.

The group’s voices died down with Travis.The latter had to painfully analyze whether their silence was in concentration over his lecture, or they were thinking the worst of him.

Out of them all, Travis didn’t expect Ranbir to be the first at his defense: “I like Travis.He is a good man.He helped my poor wife.” Ranbir explained his side of the story to the curious group, and Travis hoped he wouldn’t imply anything too suspicious about his vigilante act that night.When he avenged his wife against a drunk driver.“Thanks.” Travis reached his stiff, gawky arm to touch Ranbir’s shoulder.

“I’ve always loved soldiers—kindly speaking—probably cause I was among em.”Travis rubbed his finger joints to where he was almost hammering.“I can’t wait for soldiers to take to the streets and clean.”

Wizard couldn’t stand the vibe in the room, so he broke it with dry humor—as always: “By gum, so you went from depressed kid to inspiring motivational speaker.I do love a good transformation story!Now if I could just do the same thing with these extra pounds.”

Christina took her chance to speak up: “My dad was a motivational author.” Her next sentence further suggested she had a lot more to do with Travis’s particular choices tonight: words and plans.“Writing is in the family, you could say.”

Travis and Christina shared a knowing smile.That did not go past Wizard.

Charlie T focused on Adam next to him.“How old are you, son?”

“Sixteen.”

“What grade you in?”

“Tenth.Soon to be eleventh.”

“Shit…I remember those days, oh yes I do.”

Adam lifted his head, resting his arm on the backboard of the booth.He was trying hard to stay cool, so that he would be respected.He had to start making those smart and “adult” connections somehow, and somewhere.

“Is it hard?” Doughboy asked him.Schoolwork was harder for kids these days.Even though the environment was safer.

“Meh,” Adam nudged.“It was harder this week.”

“I see.How about I get you a sundae too, for your troubles?”

Adam smiled: “I don’t _caramel._ ” He was the only one to chuckle at his own joke.

Doughboy went off on an entire story.It sprouted from a rare medication that he’d illegally bought, not on the shelves yet, and it had reminded him.His urgency to “get back to work” had suspiciously disappeared behind his _own_ bragging: “She, this lady, discovered that she actually was sick with this rare condition called Lyme disease.It came outta Connecticut, from a tick, apparently.Cases spread like wildfire.”

“No way,” Wizard said.“I never heard of that—never.”

“It’s true, and it’s real.They thought it was arthritis at first.”

Christina suddenly looked paranoid: “When did this happen?”

“Uh, about two years ago, I think.In ’75.”Doughboy then formed a circle with his fingers.

“It gives this red ring on your skin, like a target, but it’s not ringworm.”

Christina started: “My cousin Agatha, in Mississippi, was once bitten by a spider in her garage.It formed some kind of mark too, and then it quickly ate away at her flesh, until she had a large, stinking, open and… decayed wound.Right on her thigh.She almost had to have her leg amputated.Turns out it was from a brown recluse.”She held out her hand, outstretching and examining it.“I almost thought I had tetanus because my hand hit a nail while woodworking.But no, that was just my usual aches.”

“People are eating,” Wizard told her with a glare.

“Speaking of which, I’m craving White Castle,” said Charlie T.

She couldn’t hear the rest of their banter over her annoyance.Since she was young, it seemed like she was singled out.Everyone else could get away with saying, doing this or that, but the minute she tried to, whether to be herself or to fit in with the pack, she was punished rather than celebrated for it.Doughboy could talk about misery all night—God forbid she did.

Wizard left outside to smoke before his late shift.An employee opened the doors to allow more diners inside.Travis took the cue to end his little performance, and quickly discuss an issue with Wizard.He leaned over to whisper in Christina’s ear, who mouthed, “Okay.”

“Adam, I’m going outside,” he informed the youth.Adam gave a thumbs up.

“I’ll stop to get a glass of the goat-shit on the day where we all pretend to be Irish.That’s allowed.” Ralph picked under his mustache with a toothpick.

“Aye! Do whatever the fook ya want, lad!” Adam exclaimed in his best (worst) Irish accent.

Charlie T checked the clock.“Aw shit—it’s about time to get on out.”

Outside, Travis eased over to Wizard.This was embarrassing for him—he dragged.Wizard noticed him after a puff.“I’ll really have to think about what you said in there…before I do anything else, catch my drift?” He had to be more careful in how he directly or indirectly encouraged Travis, from now on.Sure, he was a hero—the papers said so.Yet…

“I understand.”

“I wish I could you give more advice, kid.Good advice…like I used to.I wish I could…”

“Really, I understand.”

“It’s…it’s not that simple.I’m glad you were even listening to that bull-crap I said that night, about a man’s job….but this is a big deal, Travis.Ya sure ya understand? You’re making these fast, hard decisions, and you can’t be impulsive like that.You gotta figure your stuff out and what you’re gonna do, how you’re gonna do it before you rush in.Especially serious business deals, and especially with money.And then decide to drag the rest of us in with you?I mean look, I get it, and I’ll worry sometimes too, believe it or not…it’s just—”

“Wiz.I hear what you’re sayin, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Sorry, I guess I was rambling…but as always, I want you to go out and live, ya know.What are you trying to talk about now?”

“I was with a woman…”

“Oh boy.”

“…the other night.She’s very beautiful, and mostly a good person…I’ve come to find.We spent the day together, and then it got…a little heavy.I was about to make it with her and…uh.”

“Yes?”

“I, uh.”

Wizard looked at him with a small, frisky smile.

Travis tried his best to lower his voice, walking in close: “I can’t get it up.”

Wizard darted his eyes around the street for a second, then closed his mouth.He was trying to hold back laughter and disguise it as a smoky cough.Travis tilted to face the ground.

“First of all…a-heh—ahem, first of all—is it that you can’t maintain it or it’s just not happening at all? How much did you drink? How beautiful are we talkin’ here?” Though he felt a sense of pride for Travis.

“I didn’t drink; except water and tea.It’ll happen, and then it hurts.Then it goes back down.Especially…if I think about something I shouldn’t.I don’t feel too good about it.”

“Well Christ, I wouldn’t either.I’m sorry that happened.You should definitely go to the doctor, get it checked out.I think it’s funny you came to me first—do you think I have that problem? Cause I’m the oldest?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Aw, hell.I’m flattered.I’ll have you know I can still rock their world, even my wife,” he chuckled.“What’s that girl’s house number? The one you were with?” Wizard was about to tease before he realized he was being immature and insensitive to Travis’s frustration.

“I’m getting there.But you, you’re a young buck.You shouldn’t be having this problem at all…I feel for ya.Go to a doctor.Like a urologist.They’re doctors, they won’t make fun of you.”

“I don’t particularly _want_ to, but you’re right.It’s just a little roadblock, nothin much to stop me. If we _had_ made it…I woulda split her in half.” Travis clasped his hands together and then made a disturbing, backwards peeling motion as they came apart.He sounded as if he were mimicking the men’s voices and wording in the porn he had watched.

Wizard laughed again.“Good on ya, then.You’re just stressed, Travis…learn to let it go.”

“Oh—one more thing,” Wizard leaned in to whisper.“You eat more fruits and veggies, and you’ll taste better.”

Travis was confused for a brief moment.Why would he want someone to eat him?

But he quickly realized.His face resembled a schoolboy’s, and not an adult almost 30 years old.

After Wizard departed, Christina and Adam then left the cafeteria, meeting Travis outside.Christina handed him his clipboard.

He had almost forgotten to retrieve it after he set it down for a second.His eyebrows had raised when he noticed the first paper: with names and time schedules.That was a page he was waiting to pull out so that the cabbies could fill in their information.It wasn’t a huge _deal,_ but it was a good step.

“They did it,” Christina reassured.

“This coulda been meant to happen.What was it that you told me once? About a mantle or some banter?”

“The apostolic mantle?”

He nodded seriously.“The apostolic mantle.”

The others had left, and she soon left as well.Travis had only Adam next to him.

“Travis?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” Adam immediately pivoted his face to the nearby window for consolation. 

Apparently it wasn’t much help, because Travis could see his chest heaving, his nose twitching, and the tear going down his cheek that he tried to nudge off with his shoulder.

Travis thought for a second.He came closer to Adam, placing a light touch to his tensed back.

“Let’s get out of the street.”

They strolled into that old apartment complex.They were in the hallway, illuminated by the one rickety light skimming the dark stone walls.Adam’s door was only a few feet away.

Adam crossed his arms behind his back, leaning and bouncing onto the wall.Travis crossed his boots in a relaxed position, signifying that he was docile.The moth-bitten carpet that he remembered so well cushioned him.

“I…” Adam gulped, looking up to the cracked ceiling.“I…I know that you killed him.”

“Killed who?”

“M-My father.”

Travis bit his cheek.Adam carried on: “Of course I fucking know.Of course.You surprised? He was my father.My mom tried to hide it from me…all of it….but I know now.I didn’t—” Adam snickered on his own tear.“—I never expected it to be you…”

“I’m only surprised that you never brought it up.And that you still chose to hang with me.”

“This is what happened, okay—this is what happened.I wasn’t in _there_!” Adam’s voice was strong, yet almost whispering as he pointed to their door.“This was our last days in Brooklyn, when things were so much nicer.I was asleep.Ma was in the living room.She said she was gonna listen to some radio before she went to bed.All I know is…all I remember is her _screaming_ , I mean _screaming_ ….I got up and I raced to that spot she was standing in.She just told me to go back to sleep, like nothing was wrong.” Adam rubbed his nose.“Next day she told me my dad died.How? I asked her, how?Murdered, she said.Murdered by a criminal.I said what kinda criminal…she said our kind.I knew what that meant—the mob.She wouldn’t let me watch the news.She wouldn’t let me see any newspaper we came across…she threw away the one she read herself.I never understood why.She made sure I was removed from school immediately.‘To be safe,’ she told me.After all, it could be that our family bloodline, which goes back to ‘old Sicily,’ could be cursed.We could be next to be whacked.

The funeral was long, and sad.Candles and rituals and hymns.All of of our friends and family came over—and not a word was said of you.I was still clueless.Ma was in her black veil, so I couldn’t see her bawlin’ her eyes out.I’ll never forget it.”

Adam was now looking at Travis directly into his dead eyes: “Anthony Sciloso was killed, I heard from the other kids at this new school.I didn’t even know who that was!So I guess…so I guess I’ve been lied to my whole life.First about the whole business, and then later that my father apparently had two names and a different killer.One name is legal and one is…I don’t fucking know, it’s confusing.But he had dual citizenship in Italy, I know that. The Scilosos were apparently an ancient branch related to our family, the Giordanos.But I knew my dad as Benny—Benito Giordano.” Adam huffed and smiled: “I thought if he’d get arrested for anything, it’d be the two names…but I knew what he was up to…even as a kid.” That’s when he went quiet for a minute.Those horrible childhood memories were creeping back.

“Do you know how fucking rough it is being the child of a mafioso? Having that group, that cloud follow you your whole damn life? Scaring the fuck out of you since you were born? Because that’s the life we live—one of fear.No wonder my mom’s outta her wits half the time.Lives and families…ruined.I hate it.”

Adam swallowed: “And I think I hate him.”Then the boy rubbed his arms.“I thought I loved him.I did, really.He was a great father to me.Until…until I have to unlock everything I blocked out, and Dr. Belinsky makes me _think_ about it.She actually makes me. 

He put me in that miserable place…I was just a small squirt, and I had to—”Adam sighed with a stuffed nose.“It was bad, okay.What I saw, did, and experienced, was bad.And I said don’t, please don’t make me say any more.So she ended it.Then, I meet you.You were a neighbor.You’re like one of my customers, basically.I was always interested in who you were—you were so quiet.I’m too loud.Talker, talker, my man—like right now. And I came with you to Pennsylvania, and I met _her_ —

—It was wonderful.Come to find out she was in the room with him…when it happened.My dad wasn’t whacked.He was a…” Adam sobbed into his next thought: “And, and I couldn’t be mad at her because I knew what she was talking about, in my own way…what I went through.I…” Another sob.“I hate _him_ ,” his voice cracked, his eyes winced, and he covered his mouth, partially biting into a finger.Fingers haunted him.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Adam pulled Travis into a hug.Travis’s eyes widened.He could feel a hot drop soaking into his sleeve.“I forgive you.”

Travis couldn’t find the proper words, nor the proper response.

“You were only trying to protect her.” _So would I._

Travis slowly patted his back, and their hug strengthened.

Adam cleared his throat, and he removed himself.He straightened his shirt and resembled a grown man as he faced Travis, even with his unsteady voice:

“I want to join your business.”

——————————————

_If they want to destroy themselves, who am I to stand in their way?_

_I’ll leave the evildoer to the state’s sword…they’re supposed to do that._

Travis’s racing thoughts were faster than his slow pace around his kitchen.His shirt hung on the chair, and he was dressed only in his jeans and socks.Who _was_ he, really, to stand in the way?

But Travis the Barbarian would not settle for anything less than conquest and bloodshed; preferably together.

At least the time relieved him: 43 minutes after nine.These thoughts were clearly implanted if it was that time, and at night.

Travis then finished putting together his record stand and player.He never actually had one of his own before.The box gave the instructions, but they were far too befuddling and filled with tech-babble.He was better off figuring it out himself.He always had to do it his way.

The finishing touch was his first album he placed underneath.With a little persuasion, he got it from Betsy, who he knew had another.She likely gave the second away out of pure guilt.

“KRIS KRISTOFFERSON: THE SILVER TONGUED DEVIL AND I.”

It was an album that not too long ago, was a wooing gift from Sam Goody’s; for the most beautiful woman.He tested it out on the player.He listened to the various country songs while he corrected the album with a black marker.He had also checked the library, and indeed Betsy was somewhat right in that it was both the Puritans and the Pilgrims who donned the idea of a city upon a hill.But she specifically called him a Puritan.

The song he was dying to listen to was called “The Pilgrim, Chapter 33.” 

_“…But if this world keeps right on turnin,’ for the better or the worse,_

_And all he ever gets is older and around._

_From the rockin’ of the cradle to the rollin’ of the hearse,_

_The goin’ up was worth the comin’ down._

_He’s a poet, he’s a picker._

_He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher._

_He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned._

_He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction,_

_Takin’ every wrong direction on his lonely way back home._

_There’s a lotta wrong directions on that lonely way back home.”_

That described a Pilgrim, not a Puritan.And he still never pushed. 

He crossed out the first 3 of “33” in the title and drew a 4.“The Pilgrim, Chapter 43.”

He turned off the record when the phone rang.“Is this Travis Bickle’s residence?” The professional voice saying his name startled Travis.He held the handle closer.“Yes it is.”

“Good evening, Mr. Bickle.How are you doing?”

“Good?”

“Sorry to bother you so late, but we would like to propose a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.My name is Larry Hawthorn and I work for CBS News, WCBS-TV.Our crew here heard a good deal about your exploits with a sex trafficking ring back when that happened…amazing story.And now, a reporter came in today to tell us about the recent investigations going on with the NYPD, and how you may have been a subject of their abuse.What would you say, Mr. Bickle, what would you think, if you came on our daytime broadcast at our station to voice your views on this? We feel you’d be a unique guest and a big draw-in for viewers.”

Travis was at a loss for words.“I, well, I don’t…I guess I could.Fair.”

“Great! We’ll need to go over all that would be required of you, cause the producer would be a hell-a-lot more ruthless than I.You see pal—”

“Where is this?”

“At our station on Sixth Avenue, 51 West 52nd Street.”

“Sorry, sir, to interrupt, sir.I’m grateful for the opportunity, truly, I am.Wh-what am I meant to say, exactly?”

“First, attitude.When you’re on television…”

—————————————

After the St. Patrick’s Day parade, the convolution it left behind lingered in the atmosphere; quite literally.The green streamers, confetti, glitter, and smoke mixed in with the sickly, acidic green of the polluted air.Chimney smoke, power plant steam, and auto emissions joined the mixture.This particular day seemed to glow a foreboding green.

It was around seven o’clock.It had been storming all day, so the green mist touched the low-hanging grey of the clouds and the archaic towers.The sunset could be seen earlier in a well-hidden, clouded corner—some distance away.

Travis tried to shake the dizziness out as he drove along the outer road.A person jogged near him, and he scolded them internally. _Get off the road._

He stopped when he reached the large, crowded cemetery outside Brooklyn.He told a guard there that he wanted to visit, and he stepped through the tall gate to rows of marble.

He wove through the various tombstones, Christian and Jewish alike, some recent some from another century, until after a long weave he found the grave he was searching for.The lingering humidity from rain allowed a certain natural light on the graves.

Travis kneeled on one knee in front of the tiny tomb marker, out of respect.It had an angelic cherub on the top.Her name was etched in a heart, and the name was “Unknown.”It reminded him of “The Tomb of the Unknown Solider,” but in name only.

That then made Travis think of the second record he bought, which contained songs from the US army in World War II.He had a superior in Nam who served in the Airborne, and he would always sing them their song.Travis, who had an amazing memory, sung it to himself in a very low whisper, under his breath: “He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright, he checked off his equipment and made sure his pack was tight; he had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar, ‘You ain’t gonna jump no more!’” That was such a better, braver generation, he thought.But now the tune was stuck in his head. _“Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!”_

He wished he’d brought some flowers.But evidently, someone else already did the job for him, since there were two bouquets and a candle vigil left on her grave (where it could fit).Did it make them happy to do it, or was it just fake sympathy?

_“‘Is everybody happy?’ Cried the Sergeant looking up, our hero feebly answered ‘Yes’ and then they stood him up.He jumped into the icy blast, his static line, unhooked.He ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

Travis ventured over to the other grave he wanted to see, in an elaborate Catholic style. It had graffiti, including the word “Pervert.”It also had flowers.

He found his shovel behind the tree, that he expertly hid sneaking in the other night.He dug and dug.Checking over his shoulder every few minutes, he managed to uncover the unknown girl’s extremely small and shallow grave.A pet’s grave was probably deeper.

He saw flashlights as more guards had arrived to protect the cemetery.They were opening the gate.Hurriedly, he hid the shovel again and patted down any extra dirt with his boots.He had taken out her body for a moment, and then returned it to its resting place.A cold gust of wind tried to hit his face, carrying dirt.

_“He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock.He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop.The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs—He ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

Travis literally ached over his strange behaviors.He used to be normal—as normal as any lonely man could be.Something had happened to him after the shootout, and his clock not only ticked faster, but it ticked off-beat.It ticked like the taxi meter going down South Street, the Plaza, 5th Avenue, Jamaica, Apollo Theatre, Washington Heights, Sutton Place, Dyckman Street, Yorkville, and Rockefeller Center.He wished that he could stop himself, and function without a qualm.He should have self-assurance, not self-hatred.Not constantly try to sabotage himself.

_“The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome, suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones; the canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.He ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

It was possible that he died in the shootout.This was an afterlife, or at least the preparation for it.Who actually cared for a dead man? He never did return home to his parents, like he told them he would. _They_ probably thought he was long dead.

_“The days he’d lived and loved and laughed kept running though his mind, he thought about the girl back home, the one he’d left behind.He thought about the medic corps and wondered what they’d find.He ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

No.He was quite alive, and tormented…maybe feeling a little powerless.He had to find his own matter of control in a rudderless world all over again.It was probably better that he died.

He did find control by shooting those men.He had a certain amount of control overseas.With the simple recharge, reload, pull, and click of a gun, he could control others.He controlled how their bodies responded to him, how they fall back onto the floor.He wouldn’t deny that he liked that idea.Usually listening to the sounds of other bodies disgusted him, like a greasy wrapper with spit up gum stuck to it.Other times, it assured Travis to recognize and memorize what each cough, crackle, and footstep sounded like.Or how their blood sounded streaming as they breathed, spilling as they stopped to breathe.If he knew what everything sounded like for everyone, he didn’t have to interact with them to know them.

It was still just the crazy reflections of someone left alone for way too long.He was just a cold grocery item left in the sun.

He thought the loneliness would go away.Why was it still here? And who was there to love?

Who would accept him? Clearly not himself.

He only wanted someone next to him, to tell him it’s ok.

_“The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild.The medics jumped and screamed with glee, rolled up their sleeves and smiled.For it had been a week or more since last a ‘chute had failed.He ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

He was digging.The guard caught him.“Freeze! Don’t you move, ya bastard.”

Travis put his hands up, the shovel dropped.In a second, he pulled a gun out of his jacket and shot the guard in the throat.The guard gurgled, and fell back into the open grave.Travis locked him in the casket.The last thing the man saw was his cold face.

The coffin jiggled for a moment.Scratching could be heard.Travis shot through it and the movement stopped.He could’ve buried him alive, sure, but this wasn’t a criminal.

Travis opened his eyes.The grave was reburied, the shovel was hidden, and the guards—none of them dead—were close. 

It was only a sick fantasy.So much of his life consisted of that.

_“He hit the ground, the sound was ‘SPLAT!’ His blood went spurting high; his comrades, then were heard to say ‘A helluva way to die!’ He lay there rolling round in the welter of his gore, and he ain’t gonna jump no more._

_Gory, gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory, what a helluva way to die, gory gory what a helluva way to die…He ain’t gonna jump no more!_ ”

Why did he need to take his medicine again? Whether he took it or not, it all made him sick.He also felt it increased the chances of hallucinations, which was normally very rare for him. _I got one of those bone diseases, I know it.Where’s the doctor for that?_

_I wish I could see where I was goin.Kind of dark._

He pressed his spine into the sharp knob of the fence.It stabbed into his back.Maybe, he could burn the negativity away with pain.It was a punishment as well.

He steered his tired eyes to the guards.He slowly aimed his drooping arm toward them.He squinted his non-aiming eye and pretended to shoot. _Pew.Pew._

Before he left (or before he was almost kicked out for curfew), and before he reburied the girl, he spent a minute with her.The body was mummified bones.It was the same body found in Barton’s lounge.How she ended up here was a tale.

_God, what am I doing? Quit.Jesus.I’m sorry.Heaven’s sake Almighty I’m sorry._

_Crazy fuck._

He crouched, leaning against the fence.He stroked the girl’s withered hair, smelling the musky scent, and he cradled her in a paternal way.Travis held her close, and rocked once.But was he rocking the cradle or rolling the hearse?

He was forced to find comfort and love in a corpse.So his sane rationality had to leave for that minute.Even if he was disgusted with himself, it didn’t overpower his ritualistic impulses.

He needed it.And he knew she needed it, too.He had saved her.

He softly sung to her: “There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute, intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper’s suit…he was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots…and he ain’t gonna jump no more.”

“Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to dieee-ee…Gory gory, what a hell of a waaay to dieee, gooory gory what a hell of a way to die.”

Travis had been staring at the small tombstone when a guard walked over.Travis immediately checked himself: he only had dirt smudges on his shirt, but that could’ve been from another time, too.There was no dirt, blood, or blisters on his hand.He wondered if digging up and holding the girl was also fantasy.After all, wouldn’t he have been caught? Someone would’ve seen him, and it was already an out-there plan.Although he could smell that same musky odor on himself.Differentiating between reality and dreams was becoming more unimportant for him by the second. 

This was probably his last, desperate act for wonder and affection.He was on a new course now, and it would require nothing but knowledge of his own laws in his own time.Like the lone cowboy accepting his fate, he was off to a rough start in regards to lawmaking, lawbreaking, adventure, grit, and masculinity’s show.This was combined with the pilgrim’s hunt for spiritual pilgrimage.

His _latest_ shed skin was left with the girl.Imagination and awe were for children, and outpourings of love were for women.Travis Bickle…frankly didn’t have time for that shit.He would see if he could get in the good graces of the taxi company again.As much as he disliked it, he felt the need to prowl…if only to check and see what he might be up against this time around.

“Evening, sir.I’m afraid to say we’ll be closing off to the public in just a few.I wanted to let you know.”His demeanor quelled Travis’s intensity, so he could return to “normal person mode.”

The guard probably had a family waiting for him at home, who would cry and wail like idiots if he happened to wind up dead.But Travis, with his newfangled ideas, was more aware that not everything had to end in destruction—it could end in progress. 

“Thanks for tellin me.”

The guard noticed the headstone.“Did you know her?’

“No,” Travis calmly replied.

“These can be such peaceful places…I do like working here.Well, have a good night, sir.”

“So long,” he mumbled.

Travis stood still under the walnut tree.Then he sighed, and started weaving back through the tombs.He needed to get back on his horse.He disregarded social awkwardness and gave the guards a look—it was the modern equivalent to a tip of the hat and a: “Gentlemen.”

He glanced one more time to the “Pervert’s” grave.He felt zero empathy for Adam in that instant, just pride.Maybe he’ll try it again someday.

_“He ain’t gonna jump no more!”_


	30. The Iris Flower

_March 12 - Saturday morning_

After a little chat with Adam in his apartment, Travis finally had his few good guns back.

Travis touched his old door before he sauntered down the stairs.It was funny how quickly things, even what seemed to be the most important at the time, could leave your life in an instant.Christina met him outside the main entrance.

Travis had barely moved before she backed him into a street corner.“Why did you say that in front of him?” Even her whisper was harsh.

Travis rubbed his chest.He narrowed his eyes, and spoke in a groaning, breathy voice of one who just woke up: “What’d I do?”

Her sigh was harsher.

“This is why I needed to discuss it with you.Then we can finally move on from this, go on.”

“I do keep thinking about it.” She looked off into the street with a frown.

“We did it though…we fucking did it—

—I took the brunt of the punishment, and I’m ok with that.I was ok with being locked up for a few weeks…it actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.It’s my fault, you know, I take responsibility.I can’t wait to see what comes of it…or of what they find.” 

“I can only hope it’s inconclusive,” Christina said regarding any evidence that might come back to them.“Also, don’t forget that you’re probably alive because of my resourcefulness.” She didn’t want to be seen as just a sidekick.

“And I managed to talk them out of searching your apartment.Technically I saved you too,” Travis added.They were silent for a number of minutes, the sheer weight of their aforementioned situation returning onto their shoulders.

One thing was becoming clear: they were at their mutual best when ganging up on something or someone together, instead of trying to eat each other alive.They were a great team, even when involving immoral and rather _indelicate_ practices.Or, frankly, dumb ideas.

“But you heard what I said over the phone.” Travis spoke up.“You can choose to join me in this project, or not.I personally feel that you’d be a great asset, and there could be a thing or two in it for both of us.You’re very knowledgable.”

Christina gawked at him, scratching her wrist. “What would be so beneficial for a taxi driver and an auto technician?”

“That’s what we have to find out, I guess.No use in standing around and piss-takin.”

“Have you talked any more to the police?”

“They’re on my back, but they’ll lose interest soon.”

“What do we do if they don’t? What…what about the finances? The IRS?”

“I read in that CIA book that the greatest step to power is connections…it’s how these foul men become protected.We can start with that—as hard as it might be.The state’s bureaucracy has gotten bloated and weak anyway…the cops’ll take their damn time.I can sort out the money problems.”

“I’m interested in what kind of ‘connections’ are even possible.This isn’t exactly…a major, land-sweeping business.Unless you happen to be drafted again, rise up the ranks, and become a government pawn with a little help…from the powers that be.” She saw his serious face.“It’s a joke.”

“I did always wanna be Secret Service.Or Black Ops,” he smirked.“I still have a degree of popularity from the shootout.If I can somehow turn the public, and the media, back to my side… _more_ onto my side…”

“If,” Christina paused and pinched her raised fingers together.“If these…looney plans you have happen to take off, and you happen to bring out the big guns in order to cover your own ass…let’s say my own criminal record ends up as a casualty, or as your excuse, and I’m dragged in the mud because I’m ‘connected’ to you too.I mean, can I trust you? I’m sorry if that’s a rude question, but you get it, right?”

“I do get it, I do.But you saw me out there…you’re still standin here, we both are.I’m pretty sure you can trust me.I say we’re better off as friends and allies.”

“Allies—like in the World Wars?”

“Like in the World Wars.”

“So, are we still talking about an innocent, small business, or the aftermath of two men’s deaths?”

“Uh…both?” They started to smile at each other, albeit faintly.

“It’s like Ecclesiastes four, verses nine to twelve,” he said.Before Christina could ask what that meant, a shared coworker from Marathon Cab Company was to walk past them.He was short and heavyset, with slicked back silver hair, and olive skin.He huffed on a cigarette as he headed in the direction of the taxi depot.He caught sight of them.

Christina was pleasant, as she always was when she tried to get on his good side: “Good morning Harry!”

Travis followed suit within half a second: “Mornin, Harry.”

“Fuck yuh muthas.” Then he was gone.

Christina shook her head, hands in pockets.“Did you ever read Dante’s Inferno?”

“I’m still readin it.I like that the popes are right there in hell along with the rest of the jackasses.It’s kind of a political book.”

“That it is.I could name some people right here, right now that I’d like to see boiling alive in that literary version—without all the poetry and metaphor.”

“Am I one of em?”

“Shit…you might be.” He grinned, and she raised a playful eyebrow at him.

He laughed and then snorted nose drainage.“I love when you do that.Use exaggeration and whatnot.Like you’re sayin this but mean that.You’re a real trip.” He sounded like a wondrous five year old.

“Um.Thanks.”

“I also love when you’re hateful,” he was referencing her boiled alive comment.

She was a bit offended at what he just called her.“Beg your pardon?”

He still hadn’t detected her irritation, so she said again, more sardonically: “ _Thanks._ ”

He peered at the people walking by, the people he used to see all the time.“You haven’t eaten yet, right? You want to go to this diner up the street? Talk more about this?”

That seemed to appease her for now.

Before they started up the street, he cautiously put his arm around her and gave her a shake and a squeeze.He was smiling wide.“Cheer up!” He goaded: “We won!” She liked that word.Christina put her own arm around him.

She had opened up enough to begin quietly singing a song they _both_ knew: “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored…”

Travis looked at her like she had two heads before he saw that she was cueing him with her hand.It was the Union’s “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” of Civil War fame.

“He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword.”He actually had a good voice.“His truth is marching on!”

Still taking hold of each other, they carelessly sang the rest of the verse like the two brothers-in-arms they were forced to become after their battle. 

“Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on!”

Travis thought about his favorite part:

_“As He died to make men holy…let us live to make men free!’_

_While God is marching on.”_

The song stayed with him.It would later, several days later, inspire the violent World War II parody version, “Blood on the Risers,” to enter his head while in a graveyard.

But this was days before, and a more peaceful day, at that.

They walked along the brick and mortar, concrete and cement streets, where the smell of urine, feces, and rotting garbage met their nostrils every now and then.There weren’t many pleasant sights to see, and yet it had a folksy charm to it.No one could tell if a cleaner modernity would change it for the better, or for the worse.

Christina saw a disheveled junkie arrested as he was pinned to the side of his car.The cop handcuffed him and checked his pockets.She stared, as if it brought her a terrible memory, yet she couldn’t look away when it was someone else.

She snapped out of it when she saw Travis holding the diner’s door open, and she scuttled in.

The diner was airy and bright compared to the outside.Sunny yellow walls reflected the sunlit, white framed windows next to tables and booths.A spinning fan was on the ceiling.There were strong smells from the sizzling food; mostly bacon and pancakes.Somewhere, there must have been a record stand or a jukebox, because Travis recognized the faint crooning of “I can’t help myself,” and "sugar pie, honey bunch.”

Christina spied the corner where the bathrooms were located: “I drank water and then two glasses of cranberry juice after I woke up—I really have to pee.”

“Then go.”

She walked over, cracking the door open, and quickly turned on her heel.“Well, I guess I can’t.The ladies room is packed.”

“Just use the men’s restroom—it looks empty.You pass easily for a male anyway, so you should go by unnoticed.If you end up seeing a guy’s junk, at least be glad you finally got to see it up front and in person for once in your life.”

She scowled her scowl, and he scowled right back this time—in a very exaggerated way.

He stood in front of the door with his arms folded like a bodyguard until she came out.

They sat down at a small, two-person wooden table.They were given menus and Christina picked hers up only to ask, “Wait—who’s paying?”

“We can split the check.”

While she _appeared_ to be sullen at least once or twice, her actual, only two emotions seemed to be angry, and “reasonably content.”Luckily, she was currently in the second emotion.

A tired, but smiling waitress took out a pad and a pen.“Good morning, guys.What’ll we be having today?”

Travis greeted her.He was about to start his order, when Christina started talking first.

“Yeah, morning.Um…I want….this, this uh, omelette here….let’s see.”She squinted at the words, pulling the menu close to her face.“Yes, this omelette—with everything on it…so the peppers, the mushrooms, the bacon bits…but I _would_ like to ask for extra mushrooms, I think that’d be good.Uhh, then I’ll have sausage links…and I w-want exactly two, no, sorry, three, cooked…on the right.Please, I mean, if you can…”

Travis had never seen someone order so slowly.Moreover, he didn’t know if he was just already sleepy (which he was), or she was making him sleepier, somehow.He kept watching the movements in her droopy eyelids.Just listening to her slowness, and her low, quieter tone, made him a bit drowsy.

“Does it have tomatoes in it?”

“It does.”

“Ok, thanks.So I’ll have thaaaat,” She pointed to the menu’s words.“Wait, the size.Um, I want a smaller…smaller size, whatever that comes in.I don’t mind burnt bacon bits, just so you know.And then cheese….cheeeeese,” She looked.“Uh…I’ll just have Swiss….actually with cheddar too.”

Travis’s head leaned down, and he jolted it back up.He blinked furiously.Shadowy imprints were left on his worn eyes.

“Mmhmm.It comes with toast, is that fine with ya?”

“Thank you.Oh, sure—on the toast.Just uh, one piece is decent, you know.No jam.” 

Christina was still craving that avocado she offered to cut up for Adam’s breakfast.She decided to ask: “Do you guys…have avocados, by any chance?”

“I’m sorry, do we have what?”

“Avocados. They’re, uh, _green_.”

The waitress smiled nervously, and shook her head.“I’m so sorry.I don’t know what that is.”

Christina had a “what in the hell” look: she leaned her arm further back, and furrowed her honestly confused brows.

Travis crossed his arms impatiently.Apparently, most of their time was going to be spent on this.

“You don’t know what avocados are? Guacamole?”

“No?” The waitress glanced to both sides.

“Alright then…I apologize I asked.Um, that will be it for me, I think.”

 _Thank you God,_ Travis thought.The expectant waitress faced him.He had just begun to open his mouth, and Christina reached over with a pointed finger. 

“Oh, oh, wait—I’m sorry.If I may, could you also dwindle it down a bit on the cheese?If that’s possible.Dairy doesn’t really sit well with me.”

“Of course.” Travis looked at the patient waitress with sympathy while she jotted it down.“And for you sir?”

Travis thought the omelette sounded good, so he ordered the same thing—quickly.But he had bacon along with his toast. 

The waitress was playful: “How much cheese would _you_ like?”

“Extra, please.”

“Right on it.”

Travis turned to Christina.He didn’t need to say anything when he said it with his expression: _“See how easy that was?”_

“How do they not have avocados?” Christina whispered, her hand raised.Travis just shrugged.“It’s like no one up here even knows what flavor is.Stupid motherfucking Yankees.”She then stirred some kind of artificial sweetener into her coffee.

Travis dove into what he wanted to discuss.He brought up their previous phone call, and continued on the important business plan he had.He wanted to know what she thought of it, and what her advice would be on whether he should go through with it or not.

“If I’m being honest,” she said, “It sounds a bit dumb…not very rational, nor something that could probably be pulled off in your present circumstances.I think you should focus on taxi driving.You seem to make heaps of cash in that jolly business.”

He knew she’d say that, but he felt that he just needed a bit more convincing.

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth.Take it or leave it.”

Travis thought before he went on.He explained to her what the bank employee told him, concerning the state of the economy and the city’s morale.He led that into his next argument about how strong the media’s influence really was.He detailed his own experience after saving Iris; the media whirlwind and thus the people’s love that surrounded him.If they had _several_ outlets to fall back on…

“How is that possible?” Christina stopped him after he told her that the inflation rate after deficits was near 7.30%.“I thought Nixon _ensured_ the world’s fixed exchange rate after the Bretton Woods decision.…not that he was a trustworthy guy, or anything.He screwed us over on the gold standard, which had done us perfectly well.Then we made all those deals with China, that worthless police state of a nation, and now we’re in debt?”

“…and for the States, this city is who suffers first.D’you see what I mean now?” Travis blew on his coffee before sipping it.

“Hardly, I thought you hated New….I mean, in a gist, I do.I understand why you feel that way.I guess we’ve all hoped _deep down_ we could change things.I’m sure nothing I’ll say would _change_ your mind once it’s been set anyhow, not that you even need my piss-poor take—on _some_ matters.”

“Well, I know you know your numbers.Do you think I’m calculating this right?”

“I think it was smart to focus on the economy.And I always do love a good gamble…Trav, I don’t know.Wouldn’t you need more self-training, and planning? Then there’s the marketing…”

They talked about it until their food arrived.Travis cut into his omelette with determination.“So then the question begs, would you be available for it, as much as you could? I need someone as my second, who can help with all this shit.” 

“You actually do want…me?” She was still surprised.

“Why not? Can you?”

She tried to word her answer the best she could, and explained her complicated position with her job.“I will be taking time off for a good few weeks this summer, but that’s when I’ll be fishing up at Sleepy Hollow Lake with my Tio—”He probably didn’t know that Spanish term.“—my uncle.I’m actually carving a fishing rod.It has to be hard ash and hickory.”She smoothed and hooked an imaginary rod to demonstrate.

Travis understood, but he still wanted her involved in some way.He found her useful.

She tore into a sausage.He was becoming doubtful.He _was_ nuts, wasn’t he?

“Damn it, you’re right.Listen to me.Hell’s bells—I’ll shut up…I’ve said enough.”

“Why’s that?”

“I thought, I-I had a point.I can’t do anything about anything, though.Not really.I just get these dense, foolhardy ideas and then I…it never works out.I’m just lashin out like a trapped animal, as usual.”He had a slight chuckle, but raspy.“I sound like a crazy person.”

“Are you depressed?”

“Depression don’t even exist to me, by now.I’m by myself, so who cares.Man, life changes…life changes, and I’m still screwed.”

“That’s…not a very inspiring way to think.”

“It is what it is.We’re all hopeless anyway, even you.”

Christina didn’t even blink.She slowly leaned toward the table and pointed her fork in his direction like it was a sword.“ _What_ did you just say to me?”

Travis stunted at her reaction, suddenly feeling smaller.

“Hopeless?” She swallowed a bite of omelette.“We were stuck in a downpour neighborhood with the sickest man I’ve ever, ever met.We were cornered by police, we were questioned by police, and we escaped each and every one of them through teamwork and sheer will-power.If you _know,_ with every ounce of _you_ that you can move mountains, then you can.That’s what we did when push came to shove, and that’s what you can still do with this.You cannot make assumptions out of fear, and block yourself from reaching your own abilities that would shock even yourself because you decided one or two factors made it all ‘hopeless.’ Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Well, I—”

“I certainly wasn’t hopeless,” she continued, “I thought you were a deranged idiot who might very well be the death of us, but I did what I had to.”

“I’m sorry I said it.”He moved his arms and looked off.But _there_ was that fire hidden inside of her that he liked so much.That he wanted to help warm and light his path.

He told her that he would be meeting with the cabbies later, and he’d see if they were up to joining.She gave him advice from her father’s motivational books, which she had clearly learned from.They went over what he might say, and what phrases or ideas he could possibly use.She wasn’t too excited about talking to those men—she had a premonition that they didn’t like her.“Never say never,” she said quietly this time, with a comforting look. 

But there was something a little off with her.It was like, as soon as he said “hopeless,” her demeanor and outlook changed.She was the doubtful one, and now suddenly she was the encouragement.There was a switch turned in her head, indeed.She was an opportunist, and a power-hungry one at that.She realized what she might gain through Travis and jumped at it.So she turned up the charm as well.

At the same time…she genuinely wanted to see him improve, and she was proud of their achievements.

She gazed longingly at the tiny, plastic butter container next to Travis’s plate.He noticed, and pointed down at it.

“Butter?”

She nodded, holding out her piece of toast.“Butter me up.”

He softened the butter for her in between his two hands, and then opened it up and knifed a sliver. “I thought you couldn’t have dairy—”

She cocked her head and sighed.“I’ll live.”He spread it on her toast, which she dug into.

Christina looked around at the other customers.In a hushed tone, she started talking about the bodies of Fields and the girl—using other names—and the curious, general state of corpses and mummification.Travis had responded: “I’ll have to dig you up a body and you can see for yourself.”She smiled at him—a real smile.Regardless, he was always happy to make The Scowler smile.

He was soon on a rant about a narcissistic passenger.How much he hated both self-centeredness and mental illnesses, and how rampant all of it was in society.

“They need it, they just need that affirmation, the accolades, the love.What…what do you even call that? A disorder, an idiosyncrasy? I don’t know.I know I can’t do that; I can’t be all about myself to that level.I’m too self-critical, for one thing.”He nibbled on bacon: “Crazy people everywhere.Literally.Our foundations are literally built on the weak-minded.”He realized.“Let me write that down for a future article real quick…”

“Sorry to change the subject,” Christina said, _not_ sorry, “but we need to focus on how to prevent infighting if we so happen to recruit more members.If some of these pamphlets are ideological, it may cause a rift between people…unless there’s an agreed, singular goal.We embarrass ourselves, and we lose money.There’s a reason the Civil War was the bloodiest in our history—it was all Americans dying at each other’s hand.”

“The Civil War had the biggest body count because the weaponry exceeded the tactics.They were using advanced weapons with leftover battle maneuvers from the Revolutionary War,” Travis corrected her.They learned to bond over history after their trip to the Met.Travis had very little formal education, but he tried to teach himself a lot of war history from books. He looped it back to his crux that infighting can be easily controlled. 

It also made Christina look more ignorant behind all of her “smart” but empty words and similes, while she was relaxed with him.Somewhat of a power play. 

He turned on his _own_ charm to compliment her, nonetheless: “You might do well in the military.”

She snorted. “I wouldn’t.For quite a few reasons.”Then she tapped her fork on her plate.“I do love the thrill of a fight, though.”

“That’s because you have a lot of testosterone.”

“Last time I took my blood test, it said my testosterone levels were normal, but my estrogen was very low.Apparently that’s what an imbalance actually is.”She pondered on it.“I always wondered, what’s the point of having men and women carry hormones from both sexes? I mean, I guess there’s some biological reasons, but what does estrogen even do for a man?”

“Helps him kill less folk.”

“We know that testosterone in a woman gives her more muscle and body hair growth.”

“Fur,” Travis mumbled.

“Body hair…I’ve got my fair share of that.Which also brings to mind: why do men need more hair than women? Is it just for the aesthetics?”

“It must be.I don’t see why else.Possibly it’s to make our lives and our looks more enjoyable, as so much else does.But it all tends to be abused, of course…”

Travis then found the counter’s newspaper stand, where a headline caught his interest.He came back with it in hand, and they began to read to themselves the article.They found the words: “…are investigating a suspicious link between a former NYPD officer and a child pornographer.” There was brief description of Barton’s apartment; a picture of it surrounded in chalk, police tape, and gloved examinations.They interviewed a few officers, who acted innocent.They couldn’t accurately conclude what this meant for their department.

“The body of an unidentified young girl was also discovered.After an indeterminate autopsy, she has been recently buried in Fair Oaks Cemetery, the biggest in Brooklyn.”

“That’s where Adam’s dad is buried,” Christina commented.

“It is said that a taxi driver was involved in this investigation, but for now, the inquiry is slow-going and no new details have emerged.The police have been hush-hush, but one voice in the FBI has currently opted to cross-examine them, and is willing to find a lead if possible.”The next article was about a local woman: he closed the paper.

Travis and Christina victoriously clinked their coffee cups and drank.

They were almost done when Travis had the last word: “You’re up for this, then?”He’d already explained what would be expected of her.

“I worked in a certain field involving numbers in college, and I have basic leadership skills on a slight, uh, auto repair level.I’m not sure how I would do in a publishing environment, but I do know I wouldn’t want to just be your personal secretary.”

“I get it.”Although he did say that he wanted her to answer calls and take notes, and he wasn’t keen to admit that he had a hard time deciding if he wanted to hire a woman.But it might give him equality points, and, a fair reputation.

“But, I’m good on coming second, and following orders.Sometimes I do get a little lost.Maybe you could guide me.”She didn’t mean most of that, but in order to cozy up to him she had to share in some of his prejudices.

Travis chewed the last egg chunk like a camel, wiping it off his mouth with his back sleeve.“I like what I’m hearing.I think you’re gonna do great.”

“I would ask if I might could supervise some of the, um, money-related issues…maybe I could be a treasurer of some sort, and we can work out those details.I would also like to be paid my share, so that I can send a cheque back to my mother.Dig it?”

She added that she also wanted to be informed of any more secretive plans he had.There was a pause, and Christina anxiously waited for his reply.

“We’ll see.How bout that.”

He still preferred to keep to himself.Christina wasn’t trying to push her luck.

“If you bust your backside, and prove your worth, you’ll get everything you’ve earned.I promise it.”

“Even if you end up arrested for the second time?”

“It won’t happen again.And if it does happen again, I promise that it won’t happen again the next time after that.”

“Dumbass,” Christina snickered and shook her head.“So I’m assigned to a half-share of the work, too?”

“By all means—I elected you for it.”

But he seemed quite bothered.There was worry in his brows and a tremble in his hand.In that moment, he almost came across as a lost or distraught child, and she had to carefully choose her words so as to calm him.

She tried to hold his hand under the table, but he tore his away.He observed her suspiciously.

“No—let me…” She grabbed it back.“…you slippery little eel, you.” 

She rubbed her thumb over his hand’s vein.“I’m with you.That’s my decision.”

He was touched.Even if she was likely attempting to manipulate him…or it was actually a rare show of affection.Whatever it was, he appreciated it.

For Christina, she’d finally taken her chance to come closer.If she could write about her story, she could have sympathizers.If she could slowly plant seeds in Travis's violent head, he might join her to strike back at her accusers.Or, he might even kill the professor himself: her thirst for revenge was driving her desperate now.If she had to try and puppeteer a psychopath, then so be it.She wanted something; she would try her damn hardest to get it.

However, if none of that worked out, at least she formed a valuable relationship in the process.

 _As long_ _as_ the fucker was loyal.She valued loyalty above all.

He pulled away his hand: “I almost didn’t trust you, at first.”

“I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Huh!You made that sound a bit ominous.”

“What?”

“I said you made that sound a bit ominous.”

She washed down the last of her toast with the last of her coffee.

“Try not to accidentally brainwash anyone,” Christina grumbled with a cheek-full.She rubbed the crumbs off her hands.

“I told ya, that’s the CIA’s domain.”

Actually, he could sort of see her in the CIA, perhaps in analytics and research after she was vigorously trained.She at least knew how to torture, he witnessed that firsthand.Waterboarding, then.Maybe they could be spies together, in some other fantasy world.

They split the check.Their combined orders would’ve come out to about $12.00. 

“I’ll talk to my boss.Then I’ll give another call to the bank, if you’re unable,” said Christina.

“10-4,” Travis affirmed.He said it as “ten-four.”

Christina looked confused.

“Radio codeword for ‘ok’ or ‘copy that.’Like with police officers.And truckers.”

“Right.” They both started laughing.She scrunched up her face: “I was thinking, what in the holy name is this spaz talking about….spouting out random numbers, what the fuck.”They laughed until she coughed: “I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.”

Travis wouldn’t expect anything less from her.They hopped up, anticipating their respective beds for a much-needed nap.

Christina tried to hide her growing concern.This was a hell of a lot to take on.Not only was it a load of work in general, but it also meant potentially quitting her job, rearranging her time, trying to aim for success and prepare for the likely failure, troubleshoot, increasingly interact with others, and deal with someone like Travis constantly.She bit off far more than she could chew, but she was always prone to making impulsive decisions on the spot once she really wanted something.

Not to mention, Travis was quick to violent reactions.She saw what he wanted to do to Barton.She joined in, but as with many other times she felt she had little choice.How was she supposed to get along, all the time, with someone like that? How would she manage to pull him in? It was already a pretty cautious friendship—if one would call it that.But she couldn’t make herself leave him.Not when there was opportunity on the horizon.

“I can’t promise anything will change,” she repeated.They walked down the street.

“But it’s not _hopeless_ ,” Travis turned her earlier rant back on her.“You should practice listening to what you say.”

Christina smirked, and shrugged her back.

She could do this, surely.Perhaps she was even out of her mind.

She bit her lip and grabbed her shoulder when she watched Travis part from her—so determined.If only she had that amount of heedless power.

_Early April_

Travis was confident in their new partnership.He couldn’t literally, legally partner with her, because she had a criminal record.He didn’t need to remind her of it, but she knew the implications.What he did look forward to was how well they could balance each other out, and complete the same goals with different perspectives.In some ways, it was a social experiment.Really his entire mission with this business was partially a social experiment.Hopefully, there was enough common ground between them to recognize what they both needed and wanted. 

It was reassuring that she wasn’t an emotional person.She wouldn’t be upset if he reprimanded her, if he preferred his friends, or let her go.She didn’t seem to care (or at least didn’t vocalize it).She also understood that he needed a lot of time alone.She promised not to bother him too often.They acknowledged each other’s own space.They did at times clash over their strong opinions, but it was never long-lasting—never personal.They were naturally calm people.

 _Calm_ was rare in this city, so it was especially prized.It made sense that whatever they were going through, they would end it calmed.Travis told her that he liked her dedicated and austere personality, but she’d have to check her worst features, just as he was doing (or trying to do) to himself.That was easier said than done, by far.

While the first few attempts floundered, it wasn’t long before the business was up and going.Travis learned that he at least needed a high school degree or some equivalent for a particularly high-end business.Therefore, he also focused on getting his GED. 

The hotspot where the publishing would occur was reserved and in need of renovation.The equipment was shipped, most of it on its way.Many of his ideas were tweaked, with a couple of large plans ready to be put into action.He had a long, frustrating talk with his lawyer, which was _not_ going quite as planned… _but I can always go back to square one._

The police weren’t as obsessed with him as they were just two months ago.Yet he knew that he still had to be careful in that department.They would check on him sooner or later, and have some choice words for his new endeavors.If he had to go back to court—fine.He wasn’t giving this up just yet.Extra supplies were expensive, so he took more driving jobs offered to him.That in of itself was stressful as usual—but surely stronger medication would help.His occasional shipbuilding jobs provided more assistance.

He could probably sell junk in his condo that he didn’t need.The rest of his money was spent on what he needed to survive; or new country albums.That was the only genre he seemed to actually find the time to listen to, since he bought his own record player. Music still wasn’t exactly “his thing.” 

Only three factors promised certitude in this growing monster he had created:

1\. His fame from the shootout always followed him, always lingered in the background.He needed to cash in on it, and win back the city’s majority citizens (the same lowly citizens he catered to) to his side once more.

2\. An offer stood: he was invited to go on the news and discuss his experiences and run-ins with the law.Again, the shootout had boosted him into notoriety, which apparently captured the attention of TV.Too much, too fast, would be the downside.But the _upside_ would be that his vision would reach hundreds of ears…and he could use that powerful media to his advantage.

3\. Christina, who, like him, was a hard-worker, was the push he needed.She wasn’t that experienced, or even professional, but she was willing to learn on her own.Including being action-oriented.

When he was a winning horse who slowed down, overwhelmed by his own vices as much as those around him, she gave him that little whip on the thigh so he remembered his goal.

Likewise, when she was a stubborn mule, stopping, stomping, and biting, he knew she needed reoriented tasks, or to let her make—and learn—from her own mistakes.

When they first met, they hadn’t expected to work together.They hardly even talked—they just liked to play their little games.Because, while they were different, they had the same cunning and the same cynicism from their dirty occupations.Then they had their arguments.Now they were forced to learn from one another: if Christina helped Travis learn for his degree, he would help her drive properly.She disliked—or feared—driving, to the degree that she preferred to walk everywhere.He worried about her alone on the streets, especially at night. 

Their “economic relationship,” as Christina dubbed it, was becoming more and more of a reality.

In the beginning, Christina was hesitant of Travis’s revolutionary spirit because it was almost too forceful for her, and it kind of scared her.

In turn, Travis was at first hesitant of Christina’s need for administrative function, because he thought it would only slow everything down, and that somewhat scared him too.

But they had earned each other’s respect now, and worked in tandem.

Travis was a leader and Christina was the manager; they needed the other for their vision to function.She was concerned with how to make _today_ effective, while he instead always thought about tomorrow.

He had ideas: things planned out and things ready for fruition.She bought into his ideas and helped to enable it.They wanted to make it happen.Idealism and realism had to be combined in their efforts.

Travis sighed when he saw the state of the small building on Madison Street.His locale was recently built, and sloppily put together.It was plain, and somewhat messy in its paint and detail.

It took him days to clean it by himself, and that included procrastination.He hired painters and a flooring guy.The rest he would have to arrange in his mind.He had to install _everything_ where it needed to be.This was quite the headache—or maybe it was just the paint fumes.

Wizard was the grounded person that he needed to see on that following evening. 

Wizard had never been invited to Travis’s living place, much less his new condo! That meant a great deal for Travis to trust him to that extent.He was greeted by a half-clean, half-messy space with the TV going. _The Price Is Right_ just ended, and _Jeopardy_ came on.

Travis was peeling a potato over the counter.A steaming pot of stew was on his stovetop.Wizard wanted to talk about the last meeting they had.To see if Travis changed his mind concerning his wacky ideas yet.

Travis made it simple in his own taciturn way: no, he did not.

_“These great apes are very closely related to bonobos.”_

Travis stared ahead, fixated on the screen.“What are chimps?”

 _“What are chimpanzees?”_ The man on TV answered.It was correct.

Wizard was pleasantly surprised.No one considered the ignorant Travis to be…well, not ignorant, but he was getting many of these answers right.Then Wizard looked around, and saw all of the books and magazines Travis had collected.

“I’m tryin to self-teach,” Travis had explained.“I ain’t too educated—I’m _not_ educated, huh, there you go.It’s been grueling, but I’m learning quick.It’s a great thing, I think, to be learned.”

“I get you, man.My education was nuttin’ special, either, so don’t sweat it.You driving tonight?”

“I should be. You?”

“Yeah.Wheneva I have to, now.I’m looking forward to driving into retirement.”

_“This giant Greek statue, once located on an island, used to be an ancient Wonder of the World.”_

Travis thought—then shrugged. 

_“Alex? What is the Parthenon? Nope—Chloe? What is the Colossus of Rhodes? Very good!”_

“Bullshit.Only eggheads know that.”

Wizard guffawed as soon as Travis said that.Travis smiled at him while he stirred the pot.“I wish people were smarter.I really do.They’re such a sad state.” He taste-tested from the ladle.“Does really make my stomach churn.”

“Are you absolutely sure you wanna walk on with this? You might not make as much money as you’re hoping.”

“Yes, I’ve said it several times.And it’s not about the money.What do you think about coming to visit the new place sometime? You should see it: it looks much better now.We could hold one first meeting. You’re not obligated, though.”

“You know, I’ll see if I can.” Wizard didn’t like the idea, but something about Travis softened him, and he felt guilty for bailing on the guy when he was currently in his best state of mind.This was his friend, after all.What if he was right?

“You’re full-time now, aren’t ya?” Wizard asked.

“Driving, business, reading, working out….yeah, I probably am.I’m trying to be.”

“You’re a toothpick, kid, you don’t work out…”

Travis took off his shirt and flexed his ripped muscles.Oh—he _did_ work out.

“I stand corrected.”

“I want to be the best I can be.I just like coming prepared.”

“For all those weirdos on the street? Ah, you can handle ‘em as much as I can.”

“For everyone.I’m the sane one here.”

“Or the _in_ sane one,” Wizard recognized.

“Honestly, I don’t mind whatever.As long as it’s ‘us vs them.’ I’m always better when I have an enemy, ya know?”

A sad Wizard bent his head, looking to the floor.He nodded.

He proceeded to raise his forefinger: “As long as it’s never for a woman! They get enough handed on a fuckin’ silver platta to them.Some entitlement out the wazoo.”

“No….they wouldn’t even pay attention to me anyhow…it’s always the biggest jack-asses, the mule-hung guys who get all the pretty little hens to flock to them.”

“Right on.” Wizard crossed his arms to think hard.He could probably go to one of these “meetings.” It likely wouldn’t be of much substance.

When he tried to leave, Travis grabbed onto his arm.Wizard looked to him, a bit perplexed.“Will you come?”

“I need to check my schedule and get back to ya.”

“Will you come, though?”

“Travis, I said…” He was starting to twist his arm in a slight, but harmful manner.Wizard could see his skin turning red.Travis had completely locked onto him.“Stop, man!”

“I don’t understand why you won’t come.”

“I will! Jesus, I’ll come.”

Travis let go. “That’s real good.Thanks, Wiz.”

Wizard eyed Travis while massaging his own arm.

“Gee, I’m sorry.I was only playing around.” Travis now felt bad.

Wizard shook his head.“I won’t lie, Killer.You give me the heebie-jeebies sometimes.”He soon left out the door.

_“This famous barrier is said to be so long, it could reach from Los Angeles to New York City.”_

Travis’s attention clicked back: “What is The Great Wall of China?”

_“What is the Great Wall of China? Yes!”_

Travis painfully grinned to himself.

—————————————

_April 10 - Sunday morning_

“Get up, get up, get up! My sweet boy needs to get up!”

_Ma._

Adam’s heart startled out of his good dream, even though he already knew who it was.

The rest just felt like a drowsy rush.

He rushed to eat his breakfast.He rushed to brush his teeth and comb his hair (naturally shiny, as he was proud to say).He rushed to put on his best suit, which he hadn’t worn in so long, the cuffs were too short and the vest too tight.“Is that wrinkled?” His mother whined.“Take it off right now.Come on, fast as the Easter bunny.”He sighed, taking the whole damn thing off for her to iron it in her usual frantic state.Then, it was all back on.She didn’t care about how tight it felt—they needed to go ASAP.

Adam could feel a slight headache while he sat in the city traffic.Mildred, his mother, checked and patted her makeup during the wait.She was dressed modestly, but nicely.At _least_ it was normal outside.Partly cloudy, partly sunny, averagely cold.Everyone else in Manhattan was also in a rush.This was the norm, but there were less people due to being Easter morning.

Easter was especially holy in the Catholic faith.Around 7 weeks ago, they were given ashen crosses on their foreheads on Ash Wednesday.Then came the Lent fasting: Mildred was more gung-ho about that, while Adam didn’t have the same expectations.This was because he was younger.But, no sweets, burgers, or going to the pictures!

Palm Sunday, Adam was handed a palm leaf that he had no idea what to do with but wish to fan himself in the crowded church.His mother took it from him and kept it as a treasure until it was burned on the next Ash Wednesday.A few days ago, they had Mass on Holy Thursday—The Eucharist along with certain members getting their feet washed.Gross, Adam thought.

On Good Friday he finally could eat…and it was only a little bit of salmon.Last night, Saturday night, his mother lit candles and sang Latin hymns over dead family members as Adam awkwardly tried to participate, their hands joined.This morning, the beautiful white cathedral where they took Mass somehow seemed depressing.It was supposed to be on celebration and “blessings,” yet Adam felt cursed.What was the point of all this fuss?

The dead weren’t coming back.They weren’t Jesus.His father was a wretched person, which Adam only recently learned.His whole fucking family were bloodsuckers.What did they deserve? How can his mother just go on normally like this? How can she celebrate when they _should_ be thinking about what to do next? How to escape the mob life.

What if they came back for revenge—storming with their guns into this very church.Adam kept looking behind his shoulder, accidentally meeting eyes with that grumpy old coot from the back pew.

So much ancient tradition and ritual in a modern world changing at a rapid and terrifying pace. Because of circumstances beyond his control, Adam was forced to grow up with it.

A bit of his happier demeanor returned after the hefty food they ate with his Aunt Grace, who had come over. _Good_ food. 

After a quick call from Shawn, Adam gained the courage to ask his mother about something very, very important.His nerves almost pulsed while he cleared his throat: “Ma? I need to talk to you.”

“What is it, hon?”

“I want a job…and I think I may have found one.”

“Oh really? Where?”

“An…an apple stand….you wouldn’t know it…it’s, away, up Maiden Lane.”

“Near Wall Street?” Why would hedge bankers be near an apple stand?

“Yeah…I know the guy who owns it, his name is Gia-Giovanni, and he doesn’t have a phone number, or anything, but he likes me, ‘cause I always get apples from him on my way to work.”

“You have a job, and you have school.Why on God’s green earth would you need another job?”

“I mean, you’re not working much, right?”

Mildred was insulted: “I work with charities and church drives all the time, boy.Don’t fucking question me.”

“I’m not trying to be disrespectful, Ma.I’m just saying, the taxi depot has been really going down hill lately, losing business and whatnot.I want for us to be able to pay for shit, even now.”And not the “generous” packages of criminal cash from fellow mafiosos, he thought.

“Tossin’ out apples is a real money maker in these hard times, for sure,” his Aunt Grace sarcastically chortled.

His mother was scowling at him, her dark eyebrow raised. 

“Please?”

“I need to meet this man first.This, _Giovanni_.”

“That’d be impossible, Mom.I’d never get him to do that.”

“And why not? He not friendly?”

“Oh no, he’s boss.He’s just one of those introverts, know what I mean?”

“Adam, I don’t know…”

“Please.I’ll even show you the money I earn per day, and lots of free apples!”

“What hours you’d be working?”

“Uh, late afternoon, mostly.When I get off from school.It’s not long.I’ll come right back, in time for supper.”

She sighed.Her long fingernails tapped the small table.She still wore her wedding ring.

“You promise you’ll be _right_ back here?”

“I promise with all my sorry heart.”

“Take your bike.”

“I will.”

“Talk to this guy some more, see what he has to say and report everything back to me.”

“I will.”

“And please, God, fucking be careful out there.”

“I always am.”

She allowed it, but remained worried.Maybe she gave him too much leniency.However, maybe she was also too protective.He would be out on his own before she knew it.

Adam had to form a rather weak cover story for Travis’s business.He hated to lie to his own mother, and now he had to keep weaving even larger lies.Thus, he kept praying in his head for forgiveness—he wouldn’t even admit this in confession to a priest.Perhaps he really was a sinner.His mother would keel over if she knew who he was around, and he would receive the worst beating of his life.

Although…she was the first to lie. 

While Adam said that he wanted to work _for_ Travis, it didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to work _with_ Travis.He forgave the man, but that would never wash away what he’d done.What pain and disgrace he brought onto his family.Travis was lucky that Adam had as big of a heart as he did.Others would likely swear revenge and justice.Adam was a much rarer type of person.

He couldn’t deny that there were things he liked about Travis, even beyond his own anger.His business, he figured, could be the opportunity he always waited among the waters for.Something in order to prove himself once and for all.He just had to be extremely cautious, and never get too popular to be noticed, or get too close for comfort to the murderer.

Now that he thought more about it, this was, to put it lightly, extremely stressful.What the _fuck_ was he thinking?

But he was Adam.Adam knew only one command: Green light—Go.

Adam threw down his bag and collapsed onto the couch by the next afternoon.Monday and the first day of school bit at him like a yappy dog all the way home.

He rested until the loud phone rang and jangled, causing him to groan.“Shut up!” He yelled at it until it stopped.

Then it rang again.

He got up, stretched, and walked over to the coiled chord.His mother was resting in her room as she was fit to do so much.Her migraines refused to cease.She wore an eye mask and huge ear coverings.

On cue, she tried to yell at her son: “Adam! If you’re gonna make a call to Nonna you make sure you pay for it! Get that money from the jar.I’m not payin’ another bill because you wanted a long-distance call.”

“I know, Ma,” the frustrated teen yelled back.“The phone’s ringing.I’m picking it up…rest easy.”The rare calls between different states were notoriously expensive and could be difficult, due to worse reception.

“Giordano residence,” he snipped.

“Oh! You picked up!”

He definitely recognized that voice.

“Iris? Whoa…that you?”

“Who else, ya doofus?”

Adam lightly laughed in a mixture of excitement, amusement, and relief.

“Man. I was _really_ hoping I’d catch you, and not your mom or somebody.”

“Well, she’s in her room, so don’t worry.What’s, uh, what’s down with you?”

“Not much, man.Except for, oh—except for _that_ thing—”

“What? What thing?”

“Shh.I’m not telling you yet.”

“What?”

“You heard me.Look, I know I haven’t called in a while, but this is kind of, you know, forbidden.My own mother refuses me to talk to you any longer.I have to do this quick, and while she’s out.”

“I understand.Mine doesn’t want me around you, either.”

“That’s a little weird to me.What are they so afraid of? I’m all bark, no bite.”

“Ha! I have no idea what’s scaring them—you’d think we should be able to bond over the brothel, put all this resentment and grief and guilt behind.And it’s fine.Unfortunately it’s better that we try to refrain from this as much as possible…but I know it’s hard.Tell me the thing, though.Tell me!”

“Okay,” she sighed.The sound was slightly crackly, as this was, in fact, a long-distance call.Adam could explain later.“I’m coming to New York next month.”

Well, he was shocked.He could’ve swore he overheard Ivy say in Pennsylvania that her daughter would never step foot in New York again.Iris would obviously agree to that wholeheartedly.Right?

It would be nothing but painful reminders.She would likely be on edge the entire time, no matter where she was or who she was with.

“Adam? Heeeello?”

“I’m here, sorry.That’s…wow.You’re seriously coming? Do you even want to?”

“It _is_ ‘wow.’It’s very ‘wow.’Do I want to? Of-fucking-course I don’t.But my dad is going on a business trip up there, and I guess he’s decided it’s best if I ‘faced my fears’ and be with him.I _actually_ had a small breakdown in my room because of it, but…um, he doesn’t care, I suppose.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, Iris.What does Mom think?”

“She was against it until he sweet-talked her in that drawling voice of his, like he always does.Even my school isn’t opposed.I have to bring my studies with me.”

“How long will you guys be up here?”

“A week.”

There was a pause after Iris said she had to fold some clothes.She seemed hesitant to say what was truly on her mind, possibly a bit shy.She learned that she had trust issues, but she knew to trust Adam, so that wasn’t the problem. 

“I hope…I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t want to see you, or anything, even though that’s probably never going to happen.It was actually…” there was a light chuckle.“…it was actually that lost hope that’s comforted me the most about this.To see you, I mean.”

Adam was flattered, but already determined: “I’m gonna make it happen, Iris.You just watch.”

“Pfft! No you won’t.How?”

“I said just watch.I have my ways, Miss Steensma.You in or out?”

“I’m, I’m in.” A part of her hoped he was kidding, with the gravity of what that involved, not including the consequences.The other part rekindled her juvenile hopes.

“Damn straight you’re in! Have a safe trip, regardless.Try your best to be cool here, even if that means standing up to your dad, and staying inside mostly.”

 _Malarkey!_ Iris thought. _Easy for you._ “Easy”…that word, that name, made her mouth dry.

“I think I hear my mom driving up.I’ll talk to you another time, when I can.”

“Oh, of course.Thanks for calling, geez!Made my day! But remember what I said, ok?”

“Sure thing, Dad.”

He laughed.“That’s the spirit.” He checked behind him, then softly sang into the transmitter: “You’re the cutest thang that I ever did seeee….I really love your peaches, want to shake your treeee.”

Iris listened, confused.

“Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, all the time,” he continued, with a wolf whistle.“Oh-wee, baby, I’ll sure show you a good time!”

“What was that?” She asked.She immediately guessed that “peaches” was an innuendo, but for what? And why use it toward her?

“The Joker by The Steve Miller Band.You’ve never heard it? Damn.”

“Now I’ll have to,” she said.“Peace, my friend.”

“Catch you later.”If there was ever going to be a later.

Adam nonetheless hung up with a pleased smile on his face.He kicked their cheap rug in his brightened mood.

He saw through the crack in her door that his mother was asleep, and snoring.He knew he should be more concerned about her, not “this,” but little could stop him now.

He stepped quietly into his room, where he shut his own door and pulled out his chemistry textbook.In that one special space, there was a dried flower taped down.The scent was now stale, but even in its withered state it held beauty.He grabbed it before he sent the whole bundle to Pittsburgh.

It reminded him of Easter, but even more so a certain blonde who wouldn’t leave him be.

It was an iris flower.

————————————————

“I understand.No—you too, sir.Alright.Okay.Thank you.Uh huh.Bye.”

“Well? Where do we stand?”

“We’re standing.” Betsy let out a deep sigh.Her last words on the phone were jovial in that plastic, fake sort of way.She used it for upper management often.

Since the Palantine campaign was dissipating by the day, projects and people were let go at a swifter pace.Betsy had hoped to gracefully retire from it herself.The day she was fired was the day she simply gave up: on everything.

But two factors stood in the way of Palantine’s derailment.While the man himself liked living at home as a normal citizen these days, he recently revealed a plan to join the fight once more in the coming midterm elections and the more far-off presidential election.Not everyone thought this was a bright idea, especially considering the top-secret but increasingly explosive controversies surrounding his campaign.They worked day and night to keep it under control, and to erase any compromising evidence.Goodwin, the former Democratic rival, had something to do with it, but no one except for Palantine’s closest circle truly knew what. 

Charles Palantine was tired from their last, bitter election.His wife, Valerie, even feared for him after his security team reported what they believed was an attempt on his life at one of his outdoor rallies in Manhattan that year.

But Charles would rather go down the way he wanted than watch his country waste away, or to bow down to President Carter.

Ergo, his former campaign workers still worked to their limits to ensure that his popular standing remained popular, and his proposed policies remained relevant.If Palantine should pop back up into the public square, he should be remembered and welcomed.For even when he was away, his actions did not falter—they were continued for as long as they were capable.

The question directed to Betsy about where they stood came from Tom.He was visiting Betsy’s downtown apartment, and sat patiently at the table while Betsy handled business.

He could care less what Palantine did.He just wanted a new job.Anywhere was fine.

Betsy, on the other hand, was relieved in one way, and overwhelmed in the other.

This was always her dream to work in government.It’s how she was wired, and even in its daily frustrations she basked in her job’s importance.Yet, she also obviously wanted to move _up_ , not stay in the same place for years.At some point, she needed to advance.Lest pent-up anxiety consume her.In addition, the dark shadow of Palantine’s possible misdeeds followed her no matter what she did, ever since she found out last November.She was one of the first to know.While it did keep her awake with pressure, she also valued the responsibility, and truly desired to solve the problem.If only she knew where to start this time around.Everything seemed to lead to dead-ends.

They even had a note from Palantine himself.He wrote down the names of his most valued followers: who should help contain this issue.“Tom Kaplowitz” and “Betsy Hopkins” were clearly written.

“What has it been? Five months? Six? And they still haven’t fixed this?” Tom took off his glasses to rub his eyes.“I should’ve never taken school for granted.I miss spring break.”

“This is a huge leak, Tom.This is going to take a while to clean up.If it can be cleaned up,” Betsy swallowed.“I’m confident that after this, we’re done.That’s it.”

“Isn’t there private detectives they’ve hired? Surely they can help.”

“We may be the ‘help,’ but we have the brains, the grit, and the talent.Keep reminding yourself that.”

“You know,” Tom pointed.“You’re the first person who’s told me I have brains, grit, and talent.Isn’t that neat?”

“If you start overthinking you’ll give yourself kidney stones.So I would quit it, if I were you.”

“Kidney stones would be a relief at this point.” Tom buttoned his cuffs.

Betsy sashayed into the adjoining kitchen.“Careful what you wish for, Tommy-Boy!”

She took a floral oven mitt and opened her white oven.She winced, taking the hot tray out and placing it on the stovetop.She took one whiff, and coughed: “It’s a little burnt…but it should be edible.”Another cough.

Tom’s eyes watered.“It’s bread…how fucking hard can it be? See, this is why it’s good that I’m over here.You need more cooking lessons, I can see.”

“I was distracted, if you couldn’t tell! It’s not like I could watch it bake in there for three and a half hours! I have a life!”

“It was forty-five minutes.You need a kitchen timer.”

“And you need a goddamn muzzle.”

“Whoa! Hell did I do?”

“You’re…TOM!” She angrily scraped the burnt buns in the trash with a randomly chosen spatula.Before, she had hurt her fingers trying to pick it up by hand, and some of the dough stuck to the pan.It had not been sprayed beforehand.

Betsy sprung up, hair falling back a second behind.She wiped her forehead, and placed that hand on her hip.“We need to talk about those college students, sooner or later.Preferably sooner.What’s your thoughts on it?”

“I think Damien got in contact with their sorority leader the other day.The management at the school are willing to build contact with the campaign, and hold a fundraiser where the students can fill out their forms or reaffirm their voter IDs,” Tom responded professionally.Just earlier today, they were at a fundraiser.Today was Easter, and they held a fundraiser/charitable giveaway at NewYork-Presbyterian Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital (Betsy had to check that name twice).They scheduled it two days before, on April 8th. 

A top doctor there was a significant supporter of Palantine and gladly welcomed their help. Although one other claimed that “medicine and politics shouldn’t mix,” and that “children shouldn’t need to know about these sorts of things.”Regardless, they were allowed to hold their drive.They volunteered to help cheer up the kids as well. 

The team met with the hospital workers, and asked what they would like to see change in regards to equipment, structure, standards, and healthcare.Tom told stories of his Bubbie in the hospital, though it wasn’t exactly related to their goal.

It saddened Betsy to hear about some of the children’s cases, especially those who were too sick to even join in the day’s activities.But then she saw their faces.They knew what was going to happen, so they were promptly excited.

She didn’t fully know how to interact with kids other than her toddler twin nephews, Albert and Asher.They were a bit too overbearing for her, and she always feared that she came across as either a kiddy doormat or an authoritarian.Or that trying to weakly take their hands when they acted up, not knowing what she was doing, was creepy.

 _This_ specific set of children were different, since they had seen and felt things.They were quiet and humble.Betsy soon lined them up in the small courtyard outside, along with other campaign workers.It was a partly cloudy Sunday, but right now they were in luck as the sun peeked through.

“Hello, everybody! Happy Easter!” Betsy greeted.

“Happy Easter!” They all called back.

“I hope you’re all doing so very well today! We have a few things planned that should be really fun! A big thank you to the parents of these great kids, you’ve done things I couldn’t even begin to imagine, and out of true love.Charles Palantine was kind enough to help fund this event, and he should come back to visit sometime this year! Yeah! What we’re going to start with is our Easter egg hunt.The Easter Bunny himself hid these eggs, so they’ll be a good puzzle to find.Afterwards we have our donation booth, our sign-up chart, free merchandise, and some fresh flowers.We also have baby chicks that you can hold, but you have to be _very_ gentle.Are you guys ready to start?”

“Yes,” both adults and children yelled.Several workers tried to talk to the campaigners and keep an eye on the kids at the same time.The more fragile children had helpers with them. 

A little girl with a facial deformity smiled at Betsy.Her hand inched up to wave.Betsy’s heart leaped.Outstretching her hand, she waved her fingers.

Tom, at one point, moved his mouth at a rapid pace, pretending to be a rabbit eating a carrot.It made the children laugh, and it made Betsy proud.Suitable funds and donations were collected.

Betsy soon drove back home.Tom followed her all the way there.

Now she sat across from him at the table.They picked at their string beans, filet mignons, and rather hard bread.Tom swallowed some and wiped with a patterned napkin before he asked: “How did that visit with your sister and the in-law go?”

“It was okay.She wasn’t feeling very well, but he was really nice this time around; we all talked quite a bit.He helped fix that leaky sink I had.The chicken came out better than I had been dreading.It was just okay.”

“Do you ever miss your sister?”

She scoffed.“Sometimes, Tom—I’ll say that.Sometimes.”Tom understood.He hardly even thought about his siblings.

“How did this turn out?” She pointed her fork at the plate’s half-eaten contents, insecure.

“It was fine.Thanks for making it.” He washed their dishes in the sink.The garbage disposal startled him. 

He turned to her: “Next time, you should make jambalaya.Learn how to cook that…starting tomorrow.”

She rolled her eyes, whipping his rear-end with a towel: “You and jambalaya!”

Over two years ago, Tom and Betsy were invited on a special work trip to the New England coast as a welcoming into the campaign.It was a mixed bag of drama, boredom, and sunburn…but the key moment was when they ate at a seafood bar.It was high-end and served coastal dishes of national and international fame.One of these dishes was jambalaya, a Southern stew that was foreign to the two native New Yorkers.

It was pure bliss in a bowl for them both.Betsy said she would visit New Orleans one day (although she did complain that it was potentially “unsafe,” to which Tom noted that she lived in _New York_ ).Ever since that dinner, Tom was obsessed with jambalaya and sought it out wherever he went.No such luck finding it, but he made jokes about it with Betsy frequently. 

“It better be jambalaya,” he repeated.

“You’re jambalaya!” Betsy swatted him out of her way.

Tom laughed hard.“Everything is jambalaya to me, Bets!”

“If only you were as dedicated to saving this country as you are to food.We could be curing leukemia and covering everyone’s mortgage costs by now.”

“It’s kind of hard to help when I don’t even know what’s in those papers stolen from Palantine, or what I’m even supposed to do with it.It’s a long shot in the dark.”

“Spoken like a true wuss.”

“What do we do if this leaks to the press? When that genie comes out of the bottle…what do we do, smartass?”

“We keep fighting.And after that, we fight.We don’t stop fighting.”

Tom widened his eyes, and he leaned back.“Yes ma’am.”

Sitting back down, Tom started to giggle but tried to stifle it.He bit into his knuckle and snickered.

“What are you laughing at?” Betsy asked.

“Sorry, uh…I’m thinking about this time, in university…did I ever tell you about the time me and the guys snuck into this prep’s dorm room and tried to scare the mess out of him?”

“No.But now I’m curious.”

“Alright, well, it was during the early days of college, and me and my friends loved to prank.I think I told you that, at least.Anyway, there was this one really weird cat on our floor, John Osbourne.We just called him ‘Oz.’ So on our free afternoon we broke into his room before he could walk back in.We all hid under various furniture, in the dark.We had to be quiet.Oz comes in, as expected, and I guess he hits somebody’s foot.I just heard him go, ‘What?’ Like really confused, and God, I snorted a laugh and immediately held my mouth after.I ruined the whole thing and I swear I could hear the collective, silent groan of everyone else.Before Craig turned the lights back on, Jerry that madman _jumped out_ and _tackled_ Oz onto his bed!All I remember is hearing Oz yell.Turns out Jerry was wrestling Oz, and then he tried to ram a dead lightbulb up his ass.In conclusion: I think I almost witnessed an assault.”

Tom out-haled.“I don’t know what made me bring that stupid stuff up, but I was thinking—”

He was interrupted by Betsy’s cackling.He thought the story was somewhat humorous, but she was _cracking up_. 

“Stop,” she demanded, “Stop, I’m gonna piss myself…”

That in turn made Tom laugh from his chest.Sometimes it wasn’t even _what_ Tom said; it was how he said it.

The mood stilled for a moment—Betsy mistakenly brought up her talk with Travis at Central Park.Tom had warned her about him, and she was clearly affected by it.

Betsy stood up with the sharp gait of an empowered, if not actually unsure, swan.This was her life and her choice.She was still willing to give Travis a helping hand.Her other feelings for him did not help matters.

“You guys went out…that day?” Tom remembered her rushing out of the headquarters.

“We had a lovely time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not your business, clearly.I don’t ask you where you go.And he was a perfect gentleman, so don’t even start.”

“Was it just, were you only out…did he leave?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he come back home with you?”

Betsy sighed and crossed her arms.She glared at Tom like he was almost an obstacle.

“He did.”

“W-What about—”

“Almost.” She turned from him to rub her elbow.“I did something horribly wrong.” He could hear her little sniff.

Tom walked over to her to begin checking for any incriminating marks or bruises.He didn’t know that she wouldn’t _mind_ Travis leaving a mark under the right circumstances.“Where did he hurt you? I knew this would happen, dammit.C’mon, show me.”

She pushed him away.“Would you stop? He just wasn’t ready yet.I told you that he’s a gentleman, first and foremost.” Suddenly, she reached to smooth Tom’s curls.“It’s not like I’m head over heels in love with him.But you still refuse to understand how he feels.He’s mentally ill and he needs help.”

Tom pulled her in for a hug.“I only wanted—still want—you to be careful, I’m sorry.”

“I know. I know.”She hugged and pulled away.Her smile made his heart jump, like it always did.Only this time—jealousy and anger burned along with it.She kissed him and then dallied off with Travis? Betsy decided it was best to change the subject.

The rest of the night carried on more smoothly.They broke out the gin and wine, which somehow became Tom going all the way to his apartment to bring back a strong Long Island drink.Betsy even refused to drink any longer, and drank.While neither were heavy drinkers, they were emotionally burdened by work _and_ personal problems and the drunken stage hit fast.

“It’s a h-holiday!” Tom stuttered, “time to celebrate!” They cheered each other on their glasses that they had lost count on how many times they refilled.And they downed it.

“You know, the last time I was here…we made out.N-New Year’s…ahm, right?”

Betsy flicked hair out of her face as she nodded.

“How did Travis kiss you….better then me?”

“Mmm. B-Better,” she hiccuped.

“Oh really? As good as this?” He leaned in for a kiss.She responded, but only gradually.

“Keep going,” she said.The kisses were wet. 

Something made her shove him off.“Wait—uh-uh.This is wrong.”

“How?”

“It’s a r-religious day,” she tried to joke. 

“Not for me,” Tom retorted.“Passover ends today.”

It was a joke, not the truth.Betsy was largely conflicted; she berated herself with internal rage.She was a lady.She knew her boundaries.But she had kissed Tom, tried to have sex with Travis, and now she was romancing Tom again.This was a bit too much in a short span.She felt _slutty._ It embarrassed her.

She was frustrated.She didn’t have anyone to feel like a normal adult with.There was no one who could make her feel like a soul, and not just a working tool in someone else’s administration.No one to hold her.

It was now or never. 

They carried on.“Are we friends,” Tom asked between a kiss, “or lovers? I n-need to know.”

“Whatever we have to be.” That wasn’t a clear answer, but Betsy couldn’t think clearly.

“You should forget Travis,” Tom poked her.“I’m ugly, and he’s not…I get it.I know what I am…and I’ll rock your world until you can’t hold on.I know you like the b-back of my…h-hand.”

“I’d love to see you try.I’m ice cold.”

“Not on the inside.”

“T-That was…dirty.So dirty.Bad boy!” She laughed.

“I always wanted to fuck an ice queen.I bet I can, too.” Tom’s attempt at graphic language shocked Betsy, but she didn’t make him stop.

Her eyes fluttered—she wasn’t expecting this from her goofy, passive friend.That shameful feeling was coming back…and a flood of arousal.She needed to end this before it got out of hand.

“Prove it.”

So much for that.

Tom blinked, and wobbled: “Wait, what?”

“Prove. It.” Betsy was in his face now.Her eyebrows showed determination and her stance was challenging.

Tom glanced behind him in confusion.“R-Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Heh-heh, we can’t…that was funny.”

“I’m serious.Let’s do it.”

“We’re doing this?”

She dug into her purse for her keys.Betsy pranced to the front door with a bounce.“Not here.” She waved him over.“Come on!”

“We’re…we’re doing this…” Tom jogged out and down the corridor.His skip almost stumbled over the front step.“We’re doing this.”

In their drunken stupor, Betsy drove and Tom followed for the second time.Their basic logic on wise decisions had vanished.She drove into the taxi depot, trying not to hit the taxis inside.The garage door was still open.

Tom parked alongside her.He slammed the door on the way out.“What the hell are you doing? Why are we here?”

It was Betsy’s deepest fantasy to have sex in the back of a taxi.It was so filthy, so low-brow, and she was so prim and proper, that the idea excited her.Travis’s influence only ignited it.She felt a sting of guilt in regards to Travis, but she had to find a release.

They checked the car doors until they found an unlocked cab.They huddled in the back to squeeze in.Tom was extremely nervous, and doubtful that they _wouldn’t_ be seen, but he also had something to prove.For every “just cute,” average guy, every chess club member, and every one-sided lover out there.

Betsy stopped, realizing something: “What are we doing…this isn’t even safe.Do you have—”

Tom winked—he pulled out a condom from his pocket.He always carried _one_ in his car…just in case.Although he hadn’t had sex since his ex-girlfriend, and that was….a long time ago.

Betsy beamed.She unbuttoned her top, and rolled up her pencil skirt.She skidded off her red silk panties, and it hit Tom’s face like a rubber band.He tried to undo her bra in the confined space, grunting all the way.He then took off his own shirt and pants, and she laid across the seats.Her legs were hiked up, heels hitting the passenger window.

Tom had to take a moment when he saw her opening.Quite ready, at that.There was nothing quite like a woman’s pussy in front of you, from the woman you loved.He had loved her for so long. 

He hurried on his condom, and after more kissing and touching, she also became impatient.He had to insert himself under the influence.But he did it gently.

It was certainly hard to do in a car, but Tom managed to find his groove, finally.It was all so clumsy, and yet so loving.He loved how her long legs rested on his shoulders.How her blue eyes rolled back in pleasure, and how her hair softly fell onto the cushion with each thrust (albeit a bit strained).

He went deeper and she moaned.On instinct, he put his hand over her mouth, like he heard other, more _experienced_ men talk about doing.This was a public place, even if it was empty.She swatted it off rather hard.

She tried to hide her worries beneath the fun.A piece of her couldn’t help feeling objectified.Over her dead body—she was an independent, free-thinking human being who didn’t have to depend on either of these men.Few things made her as sick as feeling objectified.Her humanity was precious to her.She certainly wasn’t a hussy, but she did have her needs—which were stronger than usual lately.

Her mind quieted when she moaned again.Tom was, to her surprise, actually rather well-endowed, and circumcised.

And Tom felt the release coming.He grunted, closing his eyes and thrusting back, and then forward.Then he felt something else.

“Oh shit! Hold on, Bets.”

Betsy looked up, a bit frustrated once he stopped.

The condom had slipped off for a second, caught in between his member and Betsy’s walls. He quickly resettled it.“Mission complete.” He started up again, but Betsy put her hands on his bare chest.

“Did you come?”

“It’s awfully dark, but I don’t think so.”

She thought she felt _something_ , even though it wasn’t very noticeable. 

Eventually they rocked back into place: Betsy climaxed, and Tom right after.It was a little hasty, and now Betsy’s back and knees throbbed, but it was more enjoyable than they had expected.The “fear” of getting caught made it more so. 

Tom took his bunched-up blazer, and put it over Betsy’s naked shoulders.Her breasts still stood at attention underneath, the nipples firm. 

Tom rolled his hands down her shape, and she caressed his flushed cheeks.They kissed passionately, but with that heavy gin breath.Tom tried to keep it down.Vomiting would ruin the entire moment.

Betsy smiled, purred into his ear, and tried to play with his glasses.Tom kissed her cheek.He would never want to be anywhere else.

——————————————

Travis was the first driver to arrive early the next morning.At least he was given these longer jobs again, as much as it pained him.The mental and emotional preparation for the day ahead was now second nature.

He opened the front door to his trusty cab and placed his equipment next to him.He tested the engine.The backseats were in need of a cleaning, so he opened the side door.

Travis, after peeling the wrapper down, stopped chewing his granola bar.

Yep.He recognized it every time. 

That was semen on his backseat.


	31. A New Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's been a little while!
> 
> First off, let me just say that I love and appreciate all of you! Thank you dearly for all of the kudos, care, and support, it really does encourage me!
> 
> Secondly, I confess that life has been a bit rough on me lately. I've dealt with family issues, getting a new, hyper puppy who needs training, and busy, busy, busy all the time. I've had burnout, especially with my writing. I had to rewrite and reedit some of it. So this chapter not only took longer than I wanted, but it's rather lukewarm as I wrote it while fairly numb in that department. Like the chapter before this, it focuses more so on relationships and building/connecting plot points so that we can finally reach the climax, where it gets crazy. I say this fic has about 11-12 chapters left, if you can hang on with me! Also, as with chapters 24-25 and those constantly ringing phones, chapter 31 contains frequent imagery of driving, or finding someplace. Again, this is to represent a certain growing anxiety.
> 
> If you haven't noticed, I tend to write a lot of meat into my stories. Since it may be long-winded, it might be better to read it in two parts (or when you see "---", though it depends on you. I won't even pretend that this chapter is particularly stellar, but, I hope you enjoy it regardless! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, and for reading this story of mine!!! Can you believe it's been a year?

Iris woke up at exactly 4:00 AM that morning, in May.In the warm, late spring.

She had a plane to catch.

Iris was a last-minute packer.Her mother would start telling her days before that she needed to pack—and what she should pack—and only the night before and the morning _of_ did she finally come around to it. She decided to take the Janis Joplin style sunglasses: the drawer rolled around with the pairs when she pulled it out. 

The loud rap on her door came from Burt.He alerted her rather aggressively that she needed to hurry up; the clock was ticking.Of course she was slow—Iris had no desire whatsoever to go on this trip.It wasn’t necessarily a trip for her, but more so an experiment on emotional limitations, where she served as the guinea pig. 

Her father insisted that she get out of the house and keep him company.It would be good for her to deal with her worries head-on, he had said.She tried to explain that it wasn’t so simple, or that she already “got out” often on her skateboard, but he couldn’t understand. Obviously, there was no way he could.Iris knew that.

She freshened up in the hallway bathroom, where she had changed as well.She threw on her best jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, and an orange t-shirt over that.Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder to brush it.The cat-eared, plastic brush was afterwards stored away into her bag.

Iris looked at herself from the side, noticing how thin she became.With her depression, there were temporary periods when she longed to deprive herself.She couldn’t tell if the image frightened or satisfied her.

“I’m okay.I’m okay,” she told the mirror.“I will make it through.”

She whispered it all the way down the stairs.“I will make it through, I will make it through, I will make…” She choked up a little, then recomposed herself.“…it through.”Affirmations were calming.

Her mother ordered her to sit down and eat.“A healthy breakfast makes for a good-natured traveler.”Iris told her it was early and she wasn’t hungry, but Ivy would hear none of it.“You weren’t hungry yesterday, either.Well I don’t believe you!You’ve gotten skinny as a rail and I know you’ll eat every morsel I give you…is that a stain on your shirt?”

“Looks like it.”

“You _should_ be wearing a skirt, or a dress.We have to present nicely for plane rides.Oh, and those jeans are riding a little low.I hope you’re not thinking about showing yourself off like that.You need to break the habit.”

Iris looked down.Her shirts were rolled up because she was sitting down.The low-cut jeans she was wearing were the style—she simply chose it.Apparently, everything that might even be interpreted as inappropriate was now an “old habit” to be broken.As if it were in her very nature.At least to pacify her mother, she tucked it all into her pants, held with a rainbow belt. 

She was given the leftover Tupperware pineapple slices, with a side of bitter yogurt.She hated the taste, but she nonetheless washed it all down with orange juice.She would’ve preferred a red and juicy apple with peanut butter.

Ivy kissed her husband on the way to advise Iris for the last time, and to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

It was a silent, good twenty-five minutes to Greater Pittsburgh International Airport.They checked in, found their terminal, sat down, and had to wait, wait, and wait some more.Burt even decided to visit the airport’s coffee shop while they waited, where he asked her about school thus far, moaned over “teenybopper culture,” and scolded her impulsiveness.

The security checkpoint came next.This was more serious than the relaxed security of old, because according to several news outlets, hijackings were happening _all the time_.Iris tried not to let that scare her further.If she survived New York City’s underground, she might just stand a chance against domestic terrorists.

After a bathroom break (where, so true to her life, a strange woman opened Iris’s broken stall and stared at her), they boarded for the long flight. 

A cab drove them to their airport after landing.They were tired: meaning fast food for dinner, Burt heading to bed early, and Iris focusing on her schoolwork and the couple of pitstop vacation days ahead.Something else, too.

The day before, Iris gave Adam the final call to explain the circumstances and her far away locale: Monroe County.She meant it negatively, but Adam took it as a challenge.He said that his mother had expected him to drive to the mall that day, and to stay over at Shawn’s.

Before the following night, and after Iris had spent the day alone, she popped a dissolving sleeping pill into Burt’s water.She sneaked out earlier, where she took crumpled money from her bag to buy it at a drugstore across the street.It didn’t stop him from giving her a wet kiss before he went to bed.As usual, it went on too long, and her weighty feelings almost made her reconsider this entire plan.

She let her nerves slide off when she saw a car pull into the hotel’s driveway.Adam gave the peace sign through his window—as a signal.She looked behind her: Burt was hard asleep, a snoring mass. 

She waved, but Adam didn’t see her from that distance.Thinking fast, she grabbed and stuffed what she needed into her pockets, and ever-so-quietly opened the latched door.She gripped the extra room key to ensure she had it.She tiptoed through the dimly-lit hall.It was a nice, antique hotel, and yet it reeked simultaneously.

Luckily, there was no one at the desk or in the lobby during those swift seconds.She left the hotel without a trace. 

Adam was outside waiting for her.He stood by his car with hands in pockets….and a big smile to match his quirky features.

His drive had been so long that his back had begun to pang.It was a relief to be out of the car.There were no accidents or other problems, fortunately, but he saw some things on the New York streets coming out that reminded him of watching _The Magic Garden_ on drugs.

The reunion was awkward at first—to be expected.He softly muttered his “Hi,” and she responded with her hand gracing down her neck. 

“How was the flight?” He asked.

“It was good enough, a little scary.I haven’t flown a ton, so…”

“I get you.How’s, uh, life?”

“It’s good enough.”

Adam nodded, sticking his hands deeper into his pockets as if he were cold, or attempting to shrug.Iris was quick to point to the car.

“When did you learn to drive?”

“ _Pretty_ recently.”

“Is it really your’s?”

“Yes—well, sort of, yeah.We’re…renting it for the time being, so I can practice with it.”

“And _how_ long was the drive?”

“Uh, let’s see…it was…five and a half hours.’

Her jaw dropped. _All that for me?_ A regretful Iris shook her head, her hair swishing.“This is so stupid.”

“I know.But I’m kind of a stupid guy.”

She stepped closer to him.“No you’re not.But if you keep talking like that, I’ll smack you around like a pimp until you are wack in the head.”

“Oh…” He widened his eyes, unsure of his next move.“The last time we saw each other, it didn’t go so well.That news w-was shocking, but I know I ran out on you.”

“It was.Just don’t feel so bad.What happened, happened.We shouldn’t hate each other because of what someone else did.I know you loved your dad, and I wouldn’t dare ruin a family.I’m thankful that you’re even here.”

“Of course I am.We bonded, man.Yeah…it was a hard thing, thinking about that.And I can’t hold a grudge against you—you didn’t do anything wrong.But I mean…logically, we shouldn’t be interacting; we’d trigger something, we’d expose something, we’d make each other feel weird.I’m sure just being near each other brings up some old, uncomfortable feelings, so if you don’t care to meet with me even now, I definitely get it.I have a lotta energy man, I think I can drive back fine.Let’s just not fight, ya know.”

Their feet and fingers tapped with tension.

But Iris suddenly squeaked.She ran to Adam, who engulfed her into a bear hug.He squeezed her, and nuzzled.

“I missed you!” She exclaimed in between merriment that she couldn’t help.

He made a playful groaning sound as he picked her up: they warmly embraced.“I missed you too!”

Back on the ground, she glanced to her room window and then to Adam.“Oh my God…you did it.”

Adam raised his arms: “I did it!”

“You did it!” She clasped her hands with a wriggle.

“WE did it!” He cried, and the two used both pairs of their hands to high-five.

“Okay, shh, shh.” Adam calmed it down after remembering they were sneaking.

Iris closed her eyes and placed a finger in front of her lips. 

“Right.Shhhh.”

“Well, come on! Before your pops murders me!”

In the car, Iris was wondering what Adam had planned.He followed directions on a map until they parked at a narrow city building with iron windows.Adam took a lantern, the same lantern from his room at home, out from the back seat.He lit it with a match from the glove compartment before he led Iris by the hand downstairs.The building had a concrete basement; the steps grounded from the outside.

The lantern’s light blazed their way ahead; they saw a steep underground room with supplies,the chime from a leaky pipe, and graffiti littered walls.It was cruddy and grim, yet enthralling.

In the middle they sat, where beams and thrown out artwork formed almost a poor man’s atrium around them.Iris crossed her legs.She fixated onto this locale.

“Um…whoa, what a gorgeous _abode_.It could use a teeny bit more pine freshener.”

“Do you like it down here? I was worried it would gross you out.”

“First of all, no, I’m a badass, and second of all, it’s rather spooky, and I like that.”

“Listen to this,” Adam replied, “my uncle, my Aunt Grace’s husband, used to come to the building upstairs when he used to live nearby, when he was a young man.Before he died, God rest his soul, he’d go into that pub and make art deals.See, this used to be an arthouse, with a theater and paintings.My uncle was a sculptor, so I guess he got his head start in Rochester, but his grass roots were in Brighton.We stopped in Rochester for a family gathering in Ossining when I was younger, and he brought me up there…and down here. 

—So when you told me where you were staying, I knew exactly where to go.”

“Cool beans.That’s real interesting…I’ll safely assume that you have a huge family?”

“Do birds take dumps on cars?”

When she didn’t reply, Adam confirmed it. “Yes.I absolutely do.”

“Lucky.I hardly know any of my family, other than my grandma.” In other words, the maternal grandmother that she had longed to return to since childhood.Who she had not _seen_ since childhood.The grandmother who lost the custody battle over Iris, and who was her last vestige. 

“It’s nice,” Adam said, “and other times, it’s a pain.I’m glad I have ‘em though.” He threaded his finger into a hole in the ground.“My mom is the most irritating of the bunch, and she’s who I have to live with.Yours was great, when I met her.”

“Yeah,” Iris swallowed.“She’s the greatest.All I could ask for.”

“I’m really happy to hear you’re doing so well.I hope that stays the case, Christ.Me? I’m okay.School is a bummer, but what’s new.Oh—I got a new job too.Although it’s a secret.”

“It is, huh? It won’t be as long as I’m around.”

“I’m not tellin’ you! My role in this job is important to our livelihoods.”

Iris scoffed. “Sure.God damn it, Adam—now I’m even more curious.”

“Sorry.”

Their conversation sped through different subjects, as they wanted to tell each other every issue in their waking lives while they’ve been apart.They were indeed learning more about one another, their viewpoints, and what they liked and disliked.They talked everything from friends to frustrations. 

At some point, Adam had re-lit the lantern.He sang, “We’re gonna turn it ooooon! We’re gonna bring you the pooower! We’re gonna light up the dark of night like the brightest day in a whole new waaaay!”

Iris erupted into laughter before finishing it: “The Electric Companyyy!”

That led to a mimicry of the show’s spelling silhouettes.With great immaturity, Adam would face Iris and say the start of the word—“Fu-”

She would then face him to say, “-ck!”

Together: “FUCK!”Followed with more laughter.

Only after they had slowed down did Adam remember to ask: “Say, why did they name you Iris?”

“Why?”

“Yeah.My name’s religious, obviously.The First Man.But where did Iris come from?”

“That’s a good question…I’m not sure.Maybe my parents were into flowers? Or I just had an ancestor with that name or something? Either way, I’ve always hated it.”

“Don’t,” was all Adam said.They looked at each other until he began, “I believe names are meaningful.They named you that because you’re something else entirely.”

She rolled her eyes: “That was a cheap-shot.”

“No, I mean it! You’re not like anyone else…not that I’ve met.”

“What? You mean I’m _special,_ ” Iris rolled her eyes back white, making a face.“Just say I’m retarded, if that’s what you mean.Let it out.”

Adam laughed, shaking his head.“No.You’re special, in another way.”

“You haven’t known me that long, come on!”

“But I can read people.No matter how many interactions we have, I can know them.”

“Then how am I special?”

“Because you…you’re not like them.You don’t know the types of people I’m around, usually, at work, at school…even my own friends and family.”

“How so?” Both her voice and her face had softened.As she stared at him, her eyes sparkled in a way that made Adam’s heart quicken.

“You’re not deceitful, you’re not arrogant, not manipulative, not violent.You don’t lie—actually you’re so honest, it can hurt.You’re not dirty, but you’re not a stick in the mud, either.You’re fun, you’re kind, and you’re loud—when you have to be—and quiet, when you have to be. You know when to _shut up,_ unlike the guy talkin’ right here.You’re not out for anyone.You’ve got this big heart, a-and you’re smarter than most people I’ve met.Not just street-smart but, book smart.Emotional smart.Funny smart…God, you’re funny.You’re just…Iris.”

His fuzzy brows furrowed.That slightly goofy face charmed Iris when he locked eyes with her:

“What you see is what you get.”

———————————————

May 28, 1977

This is the Zodiac speaking.

Actually, it’s just Travis again.Apologies.

It might make my dear life more interesting if I was the Zodiac Killer.I think I would like to catch him myself.I want to ask him how he got away scot-free; how we can’t find the real deal.Rather like Jack the Ripper.I’d like to talk to this Son of Sam rascal too, as he’s causing so much havoc over here.I would take both of them out with my own hands, but they would need to find my hands.

I say interesting, because I know I haven’t written in here for a good while, and because when I did start, I had to look back at my old entries.I review them in order.I didn’t even know how lackluster I sounded.My story’s become quite boring, and well, again, apologies.I hope anyone reading this pulls through, or gives me another chance, since I might just tell something _interesting_.

See, I’ve had this business going for over a month now.The base is along Madison Street, not far from Grand Street, can get there by M22 bus.You can see the Brooklyn Bridge in all its sooty glory not too far off as well.We have a good many workers so far, and some who are cozier to me and my philosophies that I’d like to imagine or care to know.

My paper is for taxi drivers.Right now, the non-cabbie workers handle much of the printing.We do the writing and editing business, until the staff that reproduces the copy to publish take charge, if I or the others can’t do it ourselves.It’s pretty similar to a newspaper, since it updates cabbies on recent news, or dangers, or successes, or what kind of new culture and its disciples will want to meet them.I personally write many of the segments, which are on the moral and economic decay ahead.They really do seem to like that. 

I thought I would just be repeating myself, but I’ve already received many personal testimonies sent to me: they keep on with their flattery, and how they can “relate” to me.Many of them have already seen me on the boob-tube or in the papers…I’m gonna guess from the shooting.Some share my fears, and so they believe something should be done.They do promise to pass the papers around, but I never did see it with my own two eyes.

It’s called _Driving in Fear City._ Holy moly, I had the worst time coming up with a title.My head still pounds thinking back on it.But since I collected so many of them pamphlets they gave out to warn off visitors, I knew what I had to name it.The pamphlets have skulls welcoming tourists to “Fear City.”The company itself is named “Checkered Publishing,” after checkered taxis.I had to ensure it wasn’t taken before obtaining copyright.

I’m thinking it _will_ turn into books and magazines.I suppose I wouldn’t never stop until it did.I don’t quit easily.The key is proper advertisement….and I already had a deal of supporters, evidently.They sent me letters while I was in the hospital, and they watch out for me to this day. 

I’d continue to ramble about my own creation, but, you know, that’s just silly of me. Although I do believe (wholeheartedly) that it’s superior to any other business, and I mean that with utmost respect.These dogheads needs to get it through their noggins that their plans should have a long-lasting effect.Perhaps then they wouldn’t fail..at least not as much.

Hell, even I know I’m not full equipped.There’s not a deal you can do as a taxi driver—you’re treated as second-class.You hardly even exist to them.They have the privilege to do whatever they want without your approval or consent.Cause you’re just a cog in their machines, truth be told.Their neurons simply _can’t_ notice you, respect you.A mere speck in their lives.

What can that kind of person do for an entire city? A country? The earth itself? Barely a drop in the ocean, I can tell you that.Even so, there’s this motive to try. 

I’ll try and kindel (KINDLE) the reactions I been famished for.If something gets in my way, I’ll get rid of it; It can put up a fight all it wants.For example, despite decreasing my hours, I still take on several driving jobs.Anyways, I said I’d move on.

I’m looking forward to explaining this next part.Iris was just here - she was just in New York.Adam happened to let it slip one night while copying templates.Well damn.That’s the last thing I anticipated!

I saw her two or three days ago.She was with her father, who she told me allowed her to come to the city.Pay me a visit.She’s still in a funk, like she was in Pittsburgh.I understand, nevertheless…and I’m flattered that they decided to do that with the precious time they enjoyed.

Iris had a pallor face, certainly not happy to be there.

We met up in the lobby of the Empire State Building.Burt was extremely thankful for what I did, referencing his first letter, I still flaunt it like some precious keepsake—and Iris slung back.I took care to let her know I thought about her, but she didn’t have to hang with me only to warm up.

Burt had glimpsed at the clock and said, “I best be going.I have a sales pitch in only thirty minutes.”

“Understood,” I said, “Whatever you need.It’s been great meeting you, sir.” I don’t know why I felt so strained, but this man didn’t sit fully well with me.I can usually tell by a person’s eyes, and his didn’t have no shine to ‘em.His voice is also flatter than anyone else’s I’ve caught wind of, even my own.

But he’s Iris’s pa, and I had to give him plenty respect.For her, at least.

“Nice to see you again!” she told me.She tried to smile/be joyful, I suppose because she has to, not cause she means to.I’d rather think that she means it.She’ll come around when she actually, keenly realizes and understands what I’ve done for her.It shouldn’t be taken in vain.

Burt back-tracked next to me.“Actually, why don’t you stay with her while I go? She’ll be bored to tears on this trip, and I hate to leave her alone in that room again.You guys could hang out for a bit longer! Huh?”

Iris’s fists clenched, while her eyebrows knitted together.But Burt was beaming and nodding the more he thought about this idea.I tried to talk him out of it, only for the girl’s sake, but he wouldn’t budge.Iris tried to argue, but he wouldn’t budge. 

This schmo gave me emergency information before he left us.

Even I thought it a bit bizarre.If I had a daughter, I would never leave her alone with a grown man no matter what he had done for her.

Whatever, I guess.I took her hand to lead her out, and I’ll admit I was glad to be with her. 

However, she made this fuss to tear off my hand, to tell me to stop.Too bad we were already on the move!

“Please Travis, can’t you just drop me off back at the hotel?I know the address.Pretty please?”

“Why? You shouldn’t disobey your parents.” Not that I’m a shining example of that, but with age comes a better grasp on what’s smart and what’s not.

Because I’m not comfortable here, in this city, she says.Clearly, she was uncomfortable just saying it: it was like she was trying to whisper.I know, I said.I told her I was never comfortable here, either.Let’s be real, I think she’d fair much better not alone.That’s not something I would wish on anyone.

“It gives me nightmares.”

I felt a pang in my chest when she said that— _and it’s my fault._ Pay no attention to it, you fucking pussy.Keep going and stop paying attention to it.

She sighed, trudging along behind me as I walked to no place I knew.“Do you not wanna be with me?”

“It’s not that.It’s that, I don’t feel too safe, and I’m-”

“You’re as safe as you can be right now, and that’s better than being sorry.Just don’t wander off.”I know her wishes weren’t being “respected,” but she’s young.She needs to listen to her elders. 

Also, I honestly did not feel up to driving those hours to Rochester.

I took Iris to my parked Toyota, and from there drove to my condo.As I leaned on the doormat, a neighbor came in his own door and greeted us.That prompted Iris to hide behind me till we entered.

“Snazzy.”

While she was inspecting the kitchen, swinging herself from the counters, I checked the guns kept in the safe.I’ve been paranoid that they’ll be stolen by police deciding to reevaluate me. They wouldn’t, they can’t, but it feels wrong to hide from law officers.Shouldn’t we assist them?

I hid the 9mm Luger and a pack of ammo into a box. Soon, I wanted to bring it with me: it had to be easier to snatch.I drive well enough that it shouldn’t jostle around and make a racket.

She likes water, so I wanted to show her the small, dirty pool.They don’t clean, which is what I used to do—become too lazy to clean and surround myself in filth.Now, I know that wouldn’t be a flattering reflection on me, or my conscience.

I had an idea.“Iris,” I called. “Why don’t you come over here?”

Well, she waltzed right over like I told her to.What a good girl.“What is it?”

I asked Iris if she could swim.According to her, she could.Be that as it may, I doubted it.

I took a recent poll in a paper, and you wouldn’t believe how many citizens can’t swim: basic survival skills.And these are only the cab drivers.Not for the life of me do I understand it.But I’ve actually been willing to write something about tying knots, swimming, or guarding yourself.Useful things, right?

My stare made her fess up: “I can’t, okay.I just never learned.”

“That’s what I thought.If you want to learn, I can teach you.You never know when you’ll need to paddle away…like, what about right now?”

“In my _clothes?_ Man, seriously.”

“Good point.”We stood there quietly.As a joke, I grabbed her arm so I could throw her in, which is what I planned to do in the first place…for fun.But she just had to scream.

I grabbed further hold of her: instinctively covered her mouth.She tried to tug me off, even slap me, but I held onto her tight.She finally stopped when I begged her the second time.I told her I was sorry, of course, but I can’t have her screaming with people surrounding us.I’m in a position right now, that if anyone heard…I warned her.

“Hey? How about _you_ don’t ever fucking do that again, ever!”

“No need to cuss either,” I just as soon advised.I’m remembering more of what we said now.I hope the quotes I’ve written are entertaining, and proper(ly) accurate.

Although in that moment I could tell she was getting ancy antsy.We strolled back inside, and just told her to relax.Be patient.Whatnot and so forth, yada yada.

She took that to mean “start a whole other conversation.”Plopping on my chair, feet on my ottoman, she comments on the newest hit to come out, “Star Wars.”Critics and fans already hyped it to a crescendo, and from the sound of it, Iris was itching to see it in theaters.

It came out on Memorial Day, May 25th.I know this, because I right did saw the posters intermingled with American flags painted on various cars, roads.The star-spangled puke from the Bicentennial hadn’t been scrubbed off yet.I hope those who commit sex acts amongst flags suffer until they cry red.

In that traffic I also seen a car (Firebird?) with a clever bumper sticker: “Save the Humans.”It was a pun on the popular hippie sticker, “Save the Whales.” Funny.If only we could, eh.

“I’d love to catch it today, even,” Iris had cooly tried to convince me.“What do you think about that?”

I thought we should rest first things first.I refused to curse the sheer amount of pain it’s given me to pull this thing off.How I still struggle with sales.We’re only in the beginning period, and I need much more help, much more readers, and much less competition.I’ve bought advertisements; but I feel I oughta step up my game.At least taxes have been easier than expected, due to my earlier, smart deals with the bank. I didn’t say nothing outside of that.

She was curious: “How did you manage to pull this off? This is a whole lotta effort, time, and resources.Where’d you get it?”

“I gathered the money and the people I had.I wanted to do this for a while, ya see.I had to kick into high gear or I wouldn’t have pulled it off at _all_.And Acme Taxi hasn’t been too cozy with me lately, the jerks.”I didn’t tell her why.Children and women tend not to understand legal matters, of which she is both.

“You should bring me down there,” she’d said.“I’ll stand outside and send a million of those papers in a jiff, you just watch.‘Come and get it!’ I would yell.‘See the future for yourselves!’”

That there prompted me to smile at her.“I gotta say, I’d love it if you were around more often to sell my things, like the snake oil expert I know you to be.I’d let you put the papers on racks outside the window.You can be the one who represents my views to the youth.I think that one should have a representative, not a substitute. They should do it your way, not fill in for their way.I believe Jesus confirms this somewhere in the New Testament, when he’s representing his father on Earth.But can you picture what he genuinely wanted to say?”

“I’m not familiar with the Bible,” she replied.

“No matter.”I got this strong urge to close my eyes, for one little moment. 

It didn’t last long.Not at all.Not at all!

“Come off it!”

“Come off what?”

“This lackadaisy attitude,” Iris explained.“We gotta put a move on or I’m gonna sit and overthink until it kills me dead.I’m too…too anxious to sit around. We could always go to the park, or go to the bookstore…” Well I did have a package; needed to be shipped to that one bookstore that would sell them.No, she had other plans: “Better yet, see a movie.Better yet, see _Star Wars._ ”

It would be unwise to take her too far from her father, or really do anything that she might not be allowed to do.Last thing I want is to get her into more trouble.

“I-I don’t know, Iris.As long as we don’t stray too far.”

She sank into the cushion, crossing her arms…her own way to comply.She said it was alright, just a suggestion she’d had, and then breezily bit her nails.

We couldn’t have been sitting for more than fifteen minutes when the door buzzer rang, and we both jumped in a manner most kinked.It was Christina, struggling to hold a heavy box.I’d completely forgotten that she was dropping off the new mimeograph machine so I might check it over.I helped her carry it in.

I learned from the other day.She was trying to type and ended up with spilled ink.She was also frustrated when we decided the set costs for the new batch.Thought it was stupid that for a taxi driver who counts fares, she was the one who had to “do the math.”

“Hey, Christina. You want to hear a joke?”

“I can already hear you.” Fair enough.

“You shouldn’t be so smart-aleck when I help pay your share with over forty hours a week of a fixed meter, and a 15% fare rate just with Lower and Upper East Side.”

“Whoa—Impeccable! That should get your mind off the world’s troubles.What with rescuing us from the shadow people, and the aliens howling and laying eggs in your head.”

I rustled her hair.“And just what are you tryin’ to say?”

“Oh, only that you’re a bit of an oddball.By the way, who’s this?”

“Right.Christina, this is Iris.Iris, Christina.She’s the girl that I…you, you remember.”

The two greeted each other rather politely.Good—I didn’t know no ( _any_. I know these are my entries, but I shouldn’t be this callous as someone in a part-time writing business, for fuck’s sake) other way to introduce them, so I’m glad it came so natural.Christina inquired about Iris’s age (14-15) and how she dealt with ninth grade (“It is what it is.You do the best you can”).

I asked Christina how she would feel…going to see a movie with us.Iris grinned like the Cheshire cat.“Would you be ready for it?”

“So we’re watching porn? Fuck, if I had known, I would’ve come well-dressed.”Then she recalled Iris’s presence: “Whoops, sorry.”

“I wish it was porn.Probably has better plots.”

“I watched this National Geographic documentary last night,” she went on.“It wasn’t as intriguing as the PBS doc on volcanoes from weeks ago, but not as hilarious as that PSA on eating disorders.I see why it’s liked, but—bleh.”

“What would we do without your opinions on the Public Broadcasting Service? Far more important than any of my goals to save humankind,” I said.

“I never worshipped at the altar of anything public.I didn’t even attend public school.And please, you and the others hype yourself up way too much.”

“Is there anyone else we could invite?” Iris wondered.

No.Everyone else I knew were busy adults, who would probably never come to any movie with me anyhow.I’m okay with being alone, it’s not like it’s anything out of the ordinary.Only women get upset about that sort of thing…wait, _women_.

“I think I know who.” I grabbed the wall phone, and rang up the number.“Betsy, hello!Glad you picked up.How’s it goin?”

Betsy seemed near relieved that I invited her to go out.She had been “meaning to talk to me,” and was just wondering the other night whether I would be free for dinner.In fact, she made it known that she was hungry now.I told her we would get lunch beforehand.

She said it would take her an hour, but I say, it’s not possible.With that, she came over as quick as a bunny.Apparently jogged the distance.I saw, and I opened the door for her.

“Oh thank you.Hi, Travis! What’s shaking?” She waved, but I couldn’t well recip-ro-cate the wave.Of course she noticed the others immediately.“I _ran_ every red light—heh, get it? Wait, who’s this?”

“This is Iris Steensma.Iris, this is Miss Betsy.Iris is the girl who-”

“Of course.I can’t not recognize that name!” Betsy shook her hand with a grace that I hardly can begin to comprehend.

Betsy asked Iris about her trip so far; she was simply amazed by this girl’s story.Iris must’ve been bashful, cause I thought she’d skewer Betsy in her discomfort.Betsy then tried to squawk out her own political opinion, but I shut that shit down fast. 

I have this, this mixture of attraction and disgust towards her.She tries to feel onto my sexuality as one feels on the ocular pits in their skull.I’m very disturbed by sex, and yet I’m fascinated by it.I wonder if she could tell that night.

And, I don’t know why, but I felt that she was even prettier than normal.There was a glow to her skin, like a fresh summer peach before it bursts.She was creamier, thicker…somehow.Altogether, I’m proud of her hard work lately.That too.I hope she doesn’t work too hard, and it ruins her to dust.

More introductions.Betsy worked for Palantine.Christina works with me.We’re friends, we’re friends.

“Good to meet you, wow! I had no idea this was a group outing.” Betsy sounded like she was sucking in air.I could tell she wanted me alone for whatever she had to confess to me.

It was a group outing, and we would need to leave in a flash for lunch along with the next showing.I shuffled them into my car, and I made Iris and Christina sit in the back (gestured with my thumb), while Betsy was next to me in the front.I wouldn’t allow _her_ directions; I’d weave my own way there.

“Be careful not to crash,” Christina crooned from her seat.“That would be so terrible…and to be responsible for our lives?”

I wanted to tell her to be quiet - I was trying to concentrate.Now I did, however, point out that sometimes the roads distract me.Actually once saw a whole car on fire, and that distracted me too.She thought it was interesting.

“I heard that if you take any exit second to the last, you’ll always get to your destination faster by a fraction,” Iris added.

Uh oh, someone’s gonna be a doctor or a lawyer!

Even if that’s bullshit.

The narrow, hole-in-the-wall deli was across from the movie theater, a bit hidden. 

Sitting across from Betsy in a booth, brings warm stirs inside my chest: below the lungs, above the diaphragm, coddled in between the ribcage.The singular sun ray hit her hair, making the edges shine like found gold.She was as striking and well-dressed as always, but the tiny dips in her mouth showed some sadness.

They should make a device to siphon out sadness.Shit, I’d buy and use it till it broke on me.

I ordered a reuben sandwich with a side of French onion soup.Betsy had a panini and a pickle, I think.Iris had a large plate of pasta.Christina ordered the pepper-jack burger with barbecue chips.It all sounded good to me.Food don’t need to be special, but we like to make it special, don’t we?

They’re all super smart people, so it’s not akin to how I’ve heard (lesser) men describe women when they talk - like birds babbling.It’s a real hoot listening to the silly little creatures in my cab.

I’ll not bore you with every whole detail, so I’ll try to record the conversation I’d overhead as best I can.Not the best writer of dialogue, so some things may be amiss, but here you go.I’ll address who’s talking by their names, and when I talk, it will be shown as just “T.”I’m not creative enough for something grander.

This is also really good practice for my writing.

Iris: “What’s your favorite movie, guys? Mine is _The Invisible Man._ ”

Christina: “The Seventh Seal.”

Iris (clearly no clue on what it was): “Oh.”

Betsy: “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a story set in space. _The Planet of the Apes_ was classic, but a bit gimmicky.Now, Kubrick set the standard for the sci-fi epic, and _2001_ was brilliant don’t get me wrong, but I hope this is less of a, well, a snooze-fest.We do need stronger characters in our media. Chekhov had Uncle Vanya, and even Sophocles had Antigone, the rebel heroine, star in his play.Glory to the Olympian gods above for plays at half off!”

Iris: “Geez. All I’ve read is _The Iliad._ Nerd on Aisle 9! Nerd on Aisle 9!”

Betsy: “I’m not a nerd! Plays are far out—and I mean the professional ones.It’s a whole different experience, like into another world, almost.”

Iris: “You mean cheesy as all get out.You could see better performances in the baked orgies at Studio 54.If you’ve seen what I’ve seen, man, then you wouldn’t have to worry about ‘snooze-fests.’God, I still dream about that night with Uriah Heep.”

Betsy: “The British rock band? That’s awesome.There’s heaps of musical history in England, _and_ playwrights.You know, I should travel there one day; I already have distant relatives in Oxfordshire…but you like rock, huh? Any pop, like The Bay City Rollers?”

Iris: “They’re okay.Early rock is where it’s at, but I do love The Bee Gees.Ha, and Schoolhouse Rock: Conjunction-junction, what’s your function!”

Betsy: “Don’t let me forget that I need to return home by 6 o’clock sharp, to post those fliers.(Pant) I need a planner…or my Mom.I wish I could just call my mommy to come and help me…like in the good ol’ days. (Eye-roll and whispering) It’s exhausting.”

Iris: “The privileged class doesn’t have help?”

T: “Iris.”

Betsy: “She’s fine, just a smart-mouth.Reminds of myself when I was younger…yes, I was younger at a point in time, believe it or not.”

Iris: “How old are you?”

Betsy: “30 years and counting.The big 3-0 was only a few weeks ago, on May 4th.”

Iris: “A Taurus, ok. That makes sense.”

T: “It was your birthday? I didn’t know that, I didn’t know!”

Betsy: “No worries.I never do or want anything.”

Christina: “You know, I had to call my mom for help whenever I was stuck.I’d be whining, ‘Mooom, how do you do this? I don’t knooow.’ She would say, Mmhm, and that’s why you shoulda been with your Mama, not nose-deep in them useless books and car junk.”

Betsy: (Airy laugh)

T: “I’d comment on this with ya, but I’m a little scattered-brain.”

Betsy: “You mean scatter-brained?”

Yes, yes I did.Then film came up again like some acid reflux.

Betsy: “ _The Exorcist_ terrified me, and _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ was just gross.I am _not_ a horror fan.”

T: “I liked _Texas Chainsaw._ ”

Betsy: “Of course you did.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Iris: “I myself love horror.”

Betsy: “I’ll tell you a real horror story: trying to shop at a department store on Mother’s Day.People kept pushing their carts on my heels, trying to make me move.”

Iris: “Next time, try to be more aggressive to the jackasses.”

T: “They tried to do that to Christina in the hardware shop.”

Iris: “Then she should be more aggressive too!”

Christina: (Eyebrow raise)

T: “Quit with the ‘advice.’ You’re all _plenty_ aggressive.”

Christina, like me, was either chewing or looking back and forth between them in this banter.She started to crunch on a chip, saying all soft, “These are tasty.”

I think Betsy, meanwhile, was secretly miffed with Iris’s straightforward tone.Yet she was smily, and gracious.Gracious as one could be when she steered the conversation onto philosophy in movies out of the blue.

Christina: “Most of these empiricist authors and philosophers are supposed to be geniuses, at least that’s what we’re told, but they’re actually some of the most stupid bastards.No, I’m serious.Anyone who doubts reality doesn’t even understand what the pursuit of truth is…and that’s what science and philosophy is supposed to be about. Like what Hume said, when the quarter looks different on the table than when you see it closer.Yeah, it’s garbled nonsense.”

Betsy: “Hmm, that’s a deep opinion if I’ve ever heard one!You should get into politics.”

Christina: “You know the saying—if at first you don’t succeed, break and redo the system until it DOES work for you.That’s what I am, and that’s what I’ll do.”

Betsy: “I’m, um, pretty certain that’s _not_ the saying.”

Christina: “Senator Palantine, matter of fact, personally requested for me to carve his new desk.I’ve already drawn the outline and I plan to deliver it to his campaign in person.We might…run into each other.”

Betsy: “We just might.Well, I wish you big-time luck on your big projects.Hope you can pull them all off.”

Christina: “…I will.”

T: “Ladies, we need to be leavin.”

I was hapless.The three were getting along famously (I wanted them to), and now there was this sudden, slight tension in the surroundings.This was painful for me, honest.More so than gurgling down aspirin during the dusk shift.My chest stirred another time.I believe I havetuberculosis in the lungs.

Iris: “Ahem.Excuse me, Betsy—”

Betsy moved out of the booth so that Iris could leave for the restroom.I reminded that everyone should take a leak before we went in.Without fuss, Betsy couldn’t finish her meal, and asked for a box.“I thought you were hungry,” I said.

And she: “Not anymore. ” But her face had gone pale for a couple minutes.

I paid for these smarties anyway, since it was my treat.They were grateful, quick to thank me.How else will I spend my money?

Never mind it - we were off to the races.We waited a while in line (will this be worth it, I thought), and then I bought the actual tickets.I also glimpsed the prices: “It usually ain’t this much.” 

Iris tried to bargain, saying that she could pay for her own, but I told her no way in hell. 

A girl with a Kodak camera came up because she recognized me.She asked to have my picture taken with her.That was a surprise, and you never know how pictures of you will be used.But I did, and then requested that she take a photo of me and the others.All my girls.It came out good, a bit blurry…but good.I just never did like my goblin’s nose or how it ruins every damn photo.

They were too full for snacks, so we rushed into the theater without trouble. 

The room gave off purple and red hues.The lights were dimmed.Like most old NYC film theaters, it was compact, and used to be for vaudeville.I couldn’t rest my boots on the velvet seat in front of me, as much as I wanted to.

While the previews blared,I was in between them, and I couldn’t feel more awkward if I tried.For example, Betsy brushed her elbow against mine. 

And Christina must’ve been impatient, because her cawing, “Play the film!” made Iris go “Shh! It’s about to start soon!”

The room had gone dark, curtains down.The screen showed the 20th Century Fox opening.I enjoy the intros to production companies, like that iconic roaring lion.

There were green letters on a black screen, saying “A Lucasfilm Limited Production.”

Faint blue letters: “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….” A fairytale?

In the most triumphant musical horns to ever grace my ears, the sleek “STAR WARS” title appeared on screen, and flowing yellow credits floated on top of starry space.

“It is a period of civil war

Sorry, I just nodded off.I finally got a wink.I’ve already made up for my lack of entries by writing this detailed behemoth.I’m tired.I can’t describe the entire movie word for word for you.You should’ve seen it by now, anyway, since it seems to be the most popular thing in the world - Star Wars is everywhere, down to stickers.I’m sure they’re going to squeeze this for all its worth.If I can just predict how influential media will be for culture, now and beyond.

Needless to say, we walked out of that theater dumbfounded.Chills from chins to feet. 

We had never seen anything remotely like that, and I definitely haven’t.Talk about a fresh take on the hero’s journey. 

Betsy harped on how well-done the special effects were, to where she couldn’t find the right words.After that, the musical score.Iris said that it goaded her further to take up guitar and saxophone like she’s wanted to do. 

Betsy praised Princess Leia’s character.Christina found her annoying.

They both swooned over Han Solo, though, and Iris found Luke Skywalker “cute,” but “relatable and inspiring.”We all agreed that Darth Vader and Tarkin were the best villains we had seen in a long, long time.

I’m with Iris - Luke was my favorite.I related to him the most: alone with his fantasies and his machines.Trying to figure out his destiny, learning about his past.Saves the day at the end.

We all stopped talking about it when Iris complained that her legs hurt.Probably, because she’s been walking around for days.

Christina offered to help.“I can carry you on my back.How about a piggyback ride?”

Iris laughed.“I’m too heavy.You don’t need that sorta burden, home-fry.”

“If I can carry out truckloads of parts and wheel balancers for work, I can certainly carry a little thing like you.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes ma’am.Though I do have a block head, and short arms.” She outstretched them to show. “Medically speaking…I am a T-Rex.”

Betsy couldn’t contain her laughter, almost choking.Christina smiled but her fish eyes glazed over Betsy, as if they were to say, “It wasn’t that funny.”

I’ll be damned if she didn’t lift Iris onto her back, and take her the entire way to the car! The younger girl grinned and giggled.Betsy seemed to take a certain notice of that, cause ‘er eyes fell when I met them.

“Thank you so much for the fun today, Travis! I still can’t believe old Ben was Alec Guinness, from _Laurence of Arabia_ fame,” says Betsy.

“Thank Iris.It was her idea.”

After I dropped her off, right before Betsy left, she’d leaned and whispered, “We really should talk again, you and I. In private.” For round two of my impotence?

I’ll admit, parting from Betsy is sorta hard for me, despite my conflicting feelings regarding her.She’s a picture of what I fantasize to be soft.Nothing I own is that soft.

More so now, after she promised we would meet up again when we were free.I was worried about Iris, too, returning to her old crank of a father, who off-set me.

I had to recline and forget while the other two were chatting. Christina was mumbling something to poor Iris about an “undercurrent” and “depersonalization.” Paid no attention to it.

But I eventually did hear Iris grumble,

“That’s why I was delighted not having to wear a damn dress for the flight.”

Christina had responded, “I feel you there.”

Iris switched on the TV and I went into my bedroom to cut open the mimeograph boxes. Christina followed me, leaning on my doorframe in this irregular stance.Her back was bent a bit, her head was drooping, and only her arms swayed.She said:

“She’ll age like milk, and her left arm comes across as a bit deformed, but Betsy was beautiful.”

“She’s gorgeous.Like you can talk, you look like a Halloween decoration.Especially when I know you haven’t showered, you look—and smell—like one of those ancient bog bodies.”

“Leave me alone, Prickle.”

I could see her downward smirk: “Her legs and tits look especially delicious.”

Was she fibbing on not being gay?

“I’m teasing,” she goes on.“She’s been your _friend_ for a while, right? Lucky dog.”

“For a while.She can be a real pain though, don’t get me wrong.And I find that tits on any chick are delicious.I love that smooth, almost bumpy skin.”I nearly mentioned how suckling always turned me on in porn, but good thing I didn’t. 

“Are you into her?”

“Sometimes, yeah.Sometimes I ain’t so much.”

“Do you just make eyes at her or have you felt her up yet?” I’ve done more than that.

Christina paused. “I bet she’s getting drilled into her bed frame right now. You’re the last thing on her mind.”

I’m not positive on what I said, if it was in my head or aloud, but I noted how I didn’t think it was possible for her right now.

“Anything’s possible, but I’ll take your word for it.If she _were,_ would you hate her? Kill her?”

“Isn’t that a bit…reaching?”

“It’s true.You’re low on the totem pole for this type of girl.She’s probably with some big guy, bigger than you.Black, too.Like someone out of…what was that film called, came out a couple years ago? _Mandingo_.”

She was walking on some mighty thin ice here, but I smiled and joined in.

“Really, though.I can’t remember the last time I seen a woman that clever, that talented, and that magnetic.To top it off, a woman who looks good in her glasses meanwhile.No one can wear something as ugly as glasses like she does.”

Christina’s jaw dropped an inch, and she delivered a hard kick to my shin.She decided it was time to leave without another word.What the fuck?

At least sweet Iris was calm and comfortable, and _with me_.That’s all I wanted for her, truly.I didn’t even disturb her until she actually came to me.She wanted to tell me something very personal.I was all ears.

Boy, she definitely told me.She told me about how her father makes her feel.Some things he’s said to her.How her mothers acts through the business.

She wasn’t speaking on anything criminal, but she was confessing what bothered her, personally.Iris asked if it was wrong to feel that way, or if she was spoiled, and she begged me not to tell Mr. Steensma what she made clear as crystal to me.

One thing in particular was disturbing: she began telling a story, a story only from the night before last.Her father took her to a party in Brooklyn, when they soon arrived.Drinks were flowing, she didn’t feel so hot, and he wanted her to meet his compatriots in attendance.He introduced her to two men, Davey and Larry, and she wanted to run away.He grabbed her so hard it rubbed her skin raw, and ordered her to be cordial. 

Davey, you see, was mentally deficient.Slow, or brain damage.Pinched her cheek and called her “little birdie.”Rattled on how happy she made him.When she wouldn’t raise her voice: “Now-now, don’t be shy.” Had the skip of a thug hopped up on codeines and dope, the greasy fluke.He had a grey streak in his brown hair that became his whiskers, and he wore a long coat.

The younger man with him was his helper/roommate, or Larry, by his Christian name.Seventeen.Freckly, bare sort of face.Definitely a confused and sketchy boy, but not as foul as his comrade.Iris said that she would never forget him, and that was that on Larry.

Davey tried to confront her again when they were alone, and she mewled, “Beat it!” and “Quit it, cocksucker!” Little Iris was as seized up as the wheels on a car left in crackling frost.Her father was too preoccupied to notice, she believed.Yet, he would come in later to stand by her side, like a protective father should.Should.

While she didn’t remember a “Davey,” she says she thought he resembled a former john.The guy gave her drugs, and some he forced onto her (and her nose) himself.Laughing fit as a fiddle while he did it.He creeped on her once before, but never full approached.That was all she needed to explain to me, and indeed all she would.

But why, she asked, would her father bring her to a place with both? Why make her say hello like he did his coworkers? Did he know—did he let _them_ know? Quite a twisted stunt, if so.She claimed to love her father, but she was doubting him by the passing day.

What’s worse, she swore she heard Larry refer to her, out of earshot, as _“Easy Lay.”_

“It’s because I _thought_ I enjoyed it; I lived it…you want the truth, you got it.”Iris faced me.“Why do you think I was called ‘Easy?’”

Shaking like a leaf, she poured out, ”Please, promise me you won’t rat on me or do anything drastic, Travis, promise! He’s just old, that’s all.He ain’t all there.”

Iris didn’t answer none of my questions, but I promised her all the same. 

She was much younger than Betsy, and Christina, but in my opinion, she was the most mature…and this fine day proved it.Strong-hearted.

“Have some gum.” After a sigh, Iris handed me a red gum ball.

“Thanks.Where did you get it?”

She started chewing the blue gum ball from her other hand.“I swiped them from the drug store this morning, and stowed it in my pockets.How else, genius? I know we’re both sugar addicts, so, you’re welcome…

…Anyway, yeah, the drug store across from our hotel is near a pet shop…and, oh, they have the cutest little terrier dog.Travis, I want a dog so badly, if only my parents would let me.I just, I get pretty lonely.”

“I know what you mean.You should go out and make a ton of friends, before they come and go like mine always did.I’m lucky today cause I’ve made connections, but the others before…they came and went.”

The truth was that I really never had friends.

“Fuck them, then.Look at you, out here now…and where are they?”

“Buried somewhere.”

She was somber, swallowing down her question.

“It’s hard, when you feel like you’re on a special mission, and you only come back to abuse and rejection.I didn’t do a thing to earn that, but I’ve learned to accept loneliness as my chosen soulmate.I don’t, or didn’t, truly have no other choice.”

“I wish, I wish I could honestly express how sorry I am, Travis.I know our relationship is…complicated…but when you were at my house, I may have said something that night that I frankly shouldn’t have.Okay, so you _probably_ deserved it, but you don’t deserve _that._ No one does.I couldn’t imagine _myself_ overseas, away from all I know and love, witnessing what…and friends dropping like…gosh.I shouldn’t have said-”

“It’s all right.”

“Forgive me,” I heard her choke.

“Oh, goodness.I forgive you!”

“I don’t know why I’m so off my rocker.You should teach me how to swim, and shoot, to whip me back into shape.”

“You don’t have to.” I put my arm around her as a comforting gesture, that turned into a hug.It was much more natural to me than Adam’s, but the intention was similar.Her predicament wasn’t on her.“I’m with ya.”

I tried hard to lightly peck her cheek, but she stopped me!Then she seemed weirded out.What was so wrong about it? Suppose I couldn’t even fit in with a young girl.A lonely girl, at that.

I said, “Would shooting make you feel powerful, though? I know you’re no fan of guns.” I could hear her voice groan: _“Wow, you think?”_

“No idea.”

“Listen, Iris, I put you through hell, and there’s not a day that goes by that it doesn’t haunt me.” That was my full truth.“I, I really don’t know how I can help, but I’m willing to try.Life seems to have brought us to this point, and I would be struck down if I didn’t at least make some attempt to help.I know I’ll be punished for a multitude of reasons in the afterlife, but not for this.I gotta own up to it.”

Iris was traumatized, but she couldn’t live by her fears alone if she were to blossom.I instructed her on what to do if she should ever, at all, decide to shoot, but she was worried.Guns ain’t for play even when they’re unloaded, even with no hell of a wallop in recoil to worry about on dry-fire.

I tell her to make and hold a mock, imaginary gun, and I demonstrated first.I knew she was a precocious child, but you betcha she’s a fast learner, too.I mean, it’s impressive to watch.

But she was scared and didn’t want any part in it.That’s okay with me, even if it is good protection for the likes of her.We still had to swear not to spill our mutual problems, devils in our details, to no one.Trust is always good.

And I think she’ll be sick of blood-sports for quite a long time, and right on.

It was a fair deal.Then it was time to “bail,” as she said it.

Again in the car (I can’t fucking escape vehicles), she spoke up: “Hey, since you clearly hate Vermont’s guts…what do you think about Texas? You and I, exploring?”

“I don’t know about Texas.I’m good on any region called ‘rattlesnake country.’And, I saw a picture with heavy pollution—there’s a lot of industrial spots…not to mention the drug wars.”

“Here isn’t any better! Think about it! You look like you’d fit right in with your cowboy _aura_.It’s huge, and there’s stars, and ranches.That’s what I’ve read, anyway.We could go to the Alamo, or Six Flags….or Walmart!” As if those were things to be excited about.“If someone tried to bother you, cowboy, would you get rid of them?”

“Would I get rid of them?”

“Yeah.Come on, would ya?”

“I guess it depends on the person.”

“What if they’re good Texan people? Even Bible-thumpers?”

“Oh I’ll take down some Christians. They’ve become such a bunch of kowtowing chicken-shits.”

Iris finally spun back to me, with her open grin and open eyelids.I forgot what she said, exactly, but I am mostly para-phrasing in this entry.Of course, my memory is still finely tuned: I can remember most anything, better than others can.

“I’ll fight all of them, I don’t care,” I said. “I’m in need for a good fight.Give em to me.”

I piped down, patting her seatbelt shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” 

She’s too quick: “Are _you_ fine? You look like you need a Bloody Mary.”

She was especially chatty now, as we walked out into the shadowy city after a light sprinkle.“Has this city blown up since just yesterday? Holy crap! Was it always a cesspit?”

I skidded to a stop, where I gestured to everything encrusted with cables and buildings. Noises, cars, and inhabitants in every nook and cranny.Concrete. Wire.Brick.Lights and shadows.Dreams for sale. “Look around you,” I said.“All of this used to be forests and farmland on a newborn colony.In the 18th century, the British and General Washington scuffled not too far from here.I read about it in a book, _The History of New York._ We won, and now this is what it’s turned into.”

We continued walking. “Freedom has its vices over time,” I told her.

“I didn’t know you read,” she said.“No offense.”

None taken, Iris.

Burt wasn’t even in the Empire State lobby yet.Sales pitches went that long!

Well, good thing he entered, shortly thereafter.He greeted his daughter and thanked me for watching her, for returning her safely.No problem, I said.

“Sorry that took as long as it did.No troubles, I hope?”

“Dad,” Iris started, “When I move out, it’ll be in to a condo.It sounds like it has pizzaz, and I’m down with that.Stuffy old houses are for the birds.”

“You live in a good place,” he smiled.

I asked Burt if I could speak with him alone.He told a confused Iris to step outside into the crowd.

“Yes, Mr. Bickle?” I led him to a quiet and drowned out corner.I was his special hero, so he trusted me.I could even be a son to him.“You coming in or out, Mr. Bickle?”

I was grinning. “I guess, guess neither, sir.”

“You’re a shy man, aren’t you?” Burt guessed, and called me a “little shrinking violet.”

“I think I saw you that night…I think I saw you at that party.”

“I’m afraid I don’t-”

“You forgot, perhaps.”

I think he even nodded his head out of confusion.Trying to understand.A part longed to grip my hand onto his neck, massaging my fingers until it I had him like clay in my hand.Especially when my fingers traced the outlines of his upper spine…I’d pull him in like he was my own dad.Curling, intrusive, interrogating fingers I imagined.Some kind of power, I don’t know.Does that make sense?

Looked at me like I wasn’t unlike Davey.He said no, and he went on this tangent about responsibility in his job, and his family…

He warned that he knew what I was up to.

I was expressionless, even when he thumped me on my shoulder like we were old buddies.He said something like “good luck” - a sort of subtle threat to stay mum, I’m sure.Burt thanked me again with that same plaster smile.

Then he came in close, I could feel his breath: “I remember.”If an answer could wink and simper!

My eyes never moved from him.Neither did those loyal limbs of mine.

My imagination took me to he and Iris, that he smacked her in the back of the head to spit out the gum. And I watched until the smarmy fellow back-tracked into a den where I couldn’t find him anymore.Imagination showed repugnant fog clouds blurring the brass scope’s nozzle on lookout.

————————————

May 29, 1977

Filled up the gas tank.Dashboard’s been fixed.Pulled in $600 last week.

I’m trying not to waste my money.I find I’m good about that.

I understand I can be obsessive, make fun of me all you want for it. 

I can already feel, no, I can see, the tremendous importance of what my pre-destined future will mean.I know, I know.Travis, stop talking about boring, useless shit like destiny and future.I guess I just can’t help myself.I could talk on something funny or entertaining to numb your mind, tired from the long hours that go too long like mine, but I have told the silly and ironic scenes - most from earlier.And I rightly don’t know where else to go, otherwise. 

I realized that loneliness has loosened its control over me: those snarling hounds let off the leash.I can be something without a constant blockade.There’s no button to stall me.I don’t feel so lonely.I don’t feel so poor, either.

I’m still on a mission.After all, the time will come and no one will be ready.This is well-known to me.

Okay.I sound like a fool, and in someways I always _been_ a fool.I tried to change that with Iris’s rescue.I wanted to hope against hope.I didn’t wanna be a joke.I wanted to be a serious man with that image, with others taking me seriously.But maybe I was wrong, and it’s a scam.My hopes are nothing-burgers.Maybe purpose is a lie we like to tell ourselves when there’s nothing else left to fight for.

I do have this last fight in me: my current mission with this company isn’t just for job searches and inspiration.I can at least rest assured of that. 

It’s about time they take their own medicine.Really, everyone’s looking for a medicine to take.This isn’t gonna be cured by swallowing the spoonful.We need a whole surgery.Self-righteousness is only poisoning what God can already solve, and I know I’m only one of His tools for operation.

I’m sitting down at the moment, lamplight on the names I’ve got written down.Every person who has affected my mission to this point.Each name is someone involved in the city’s deep ring of corruption, that I plan to expose in public.

I’ve learned there’s a lot like me out there, and when people relate to you, it’s easier to convince them with what you want.We’ll see what happens if this ever grows. 

Only, I’d rather cause a change, instead’a causing a rift between cop and criminal.Having said that, I will do what I have to.I still have that self-made bomb.I could even improve on it, just in case. 

Christina visiting Palantine gives me fresh ideas, and Star Wars gives me hope.Rebels, villains, and a hero’s success.

I need hope.The corruption includes everything from funding to trafficking, you name it.All illegal and kept in the dark.

For now, I’ve put in advertisements for former political campaigners to draw them in.Why?

A name stands out at the end of my list: Charles Palantine.Last year’s star candidate.How do I know he's involved? How did I discover his name?

Simply because a file of various papers was kind enough to share it with me.A few of those very papers I've stapled into this volume, it’s just a real pity the sin that dropped ‘em into my guilty hands.Fuck, I hate these hands attached to me, but God help me if I don’t feed them.Yeah, I know how I sound. 

The papers were stolen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> This chapter is filled with lots of 70s pop culture references, to say the least, as with all the film title shootouts to fit with the cinema theme.
> 
> I've really expanded this world I got going, and I thought it might be cool to link some of the references if you would ever like to check it out!
> 
> ...
> 
> Adam mentions the New York children's television show, "The Magic Garden." Here's the opening theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-q-7WG7CRA
> 
> Iris and Adam sing The Electric Company's theme song, another children's show, and especially iconic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_iGaQglnKg
> 
> Mocked by those crazy kids, this is an example silhouette blend on The Electric Company. That's a young Morgan Freeman!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YW_rq6HizSk
> 
> Iris's Conjunction Junction, from the famous Schoolhouse Rock bit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWBO9NAYm-U
> 
> Christina says she's watched something on PBS, and I can confirm that she is an avid PBS viewer. 1970s PBS opening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_JCzZAqqQg
> 
> The 1977 opening credits to Star Wars, when it was only known as "Star Wars": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXDnFYu91vY


	32. In Knots Part 1

Travis felt heat prickling up his neck, filling into his face.

He finally fanned himself with a paper, something he had seen an overheated woman or two do in his cab.He checked his watch for what felt like the thirteenth time in twenty minutes: it was still an hour and a half until 5 AM.

Travis woke up very early—or rather, he finally decided to leave his bed sometime after midnight, when he could already tell that sleep would be a no-go.He knew not to take any form of sleeping medicine before he fell to bed, as much as he knew he needed it.It would only cause him unsurmountable grogginess on the day when he required a most clear-headed mind.

He was sitting in a room in CBS studios, on (he had it memorized) Sixth Avenue, 51 West 52nd Street in Manhattan, for WCBS-TV Morning News segment.His segment, to be precise; he came on last.Where he was going to detail his experiences in a way that he had also memorized to the dot.He would need to tell them his version of the events—how it happened, with the extra push toward his new business.This made him nervous to a degree he had not felt in quite a long time. 

Travis was on the news, technically, but he was never on _live television_.It all seemed so very pointless; even dumb to talk about, well, _himself._ Who cared, and why would they?

“Bickle?”

“Excuse me, Bickle?”

Travis lifted his tired head. 

“If you could come to Ms. Lodge’s room on the 3rd floor, first door to the right? She’ll be doing your hair and makeup.”

Travis slid along to the elevator.It stopped with a little jostle, and Travis clutched his stomach upon coming out.He had to swallow down the urge to vomit. 

Ms. Lodge beckoned him to come in when he cracked the door.The room was a smaller studio where paints and makeup and products were dutifully organized against tables, counters, chairs, and dressers.He saw many people behind the scenes for this broadcast, scurrying this way and that way.It smelled strongly of chemicals when he sat down into the pink cushioned chair.

Ms. Lodge informed him in detail—rapid detail—about what she wanted to do to his face and hair.Travis tried to joke that he never had his makeup done before but it came out in more of a crackly mumble.

She dabbed some cold liquid onto his heated face—providing minimum relief.She warbled on about him, her particular morning, what live TV was like, and what incredulous thing a reporter had said about her off-air.Meanwhile, Travis was forced to watch his haggard, gaunt face be poked and prodded into something _squishy._ He tried to avoid the blush, saying, “I’m good on that, I just wanna be natural.”

“This should bring out your eyes a little more…” Ms. Lodge grabbed Travis’s head, while he tried in vain to dodge her.

“No ma’am, I don’t want nothing on my—” It was too late.She moved up and his eyelids were pulled in the process.

“So, Bickle,” she began to ask, “what did you do after the big event? You went back to work, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, uh, after the coma, I did.I was lucky to be strong enough to come out it.All I really knew was being a taxi driver, so that’s what I went with.”

She laughed, as if she thought he was sarcastic: “But where do you usually spend your time?”

“Um, well.I just said I’m a taxi driver, so…”

She laughed again.“I know, hon.”

“Sorry if that came out kinda rude, but I wasn’t so sure about your question.”

“That’s ok.You’ll need to save that energy for the questions later!”

Ms. Lodge started to comb his hair, and Travis was tugged a bit to the side.“That feels good,” he mumbled.

Then she sprayed something over him, and he instinctively closed his eyes.He was trying to hold back a cough: “How long you been workin here?”

“Oh boy—a long, long time.I’ve been grooming big-headed celebrities and stars for years.I’m glad I never dropped out of cosmetology school…I’d wanted to though.”

“Who was the nicest? If ya don’t mind my asking?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question..” 

She finished up her last touches before she said he could go. 

“Thank you,” he said.“I feel like a damn unicorn.”

“No problemo, hon.” She smiled, lowering her head to his shoulder, meeting his gaze in the mirror.“You clean up well!”

He was soon escorted through the crowd with care.He passed so many floors of broadcasting and prep rooms that he lost count.The numbers assigned with names on the wooden, plaster, and brass-hinged doors; quiet or with muffled voices, he lost count.There were headsets and clipboards.Cologne and sweat.Gum chewing, whispering, phones ringing, and overlapping yells and commands. A secretary tried to calm her scruffy Maltese that she brought to work without heed.There was coffee and donuts on reserved trays—Travis wished to snag one in secret.

He spotted at least a few famous anchormen that he recognized from his hours of TV, shut up alone in a little, messy apartment.

He was led to the room surrounded by cameras the size of which he had never seen.Definitely not intimidating, or anything.

More staff buzzed busily behind the scenes.Some were on the rotary phone, some checking the cameras and microphones, and others scribbled their notes.Travis had no idea that this much effort was put into every broadcast.He often considered the news useless, tacky, and a mouthpiece for desensitizing propaganda to either pacify or panic the public.

As he sat in the hot-seat across from the main anchor’s, he tried to rehearse his answers in his head.Someone hooked a microphone into his shirt and checked his hair.If only he could instead stop dwelling on the passenger crying after a funeral in his cab, confessing her feelings about it to him, or how impressively large those Rottweiler’s testicles were at the park.

A woman with three assistants clinging to her walked in with her personal gravitas.She was wearing a matching pantsuit and had her hair done.The professional, attractive woman (it reminded him of Betsy) sat in the other seat close by.

“Jim, how much time?”

“In exactly ten minutes.”

“Perfect.”

She finally noticed Travis, putting on a smile and shaking his hand.Her own microphone was adjusted and she nonchalantly cupped her hand to huff and smell: “Dear God, my breath _reeks_ today.” A young female staffer immediately reassured her.

Travis was firmly told that he could not cuss or say anything violent, lecherous, or racially insensitive.He would need to treat political and religious statements with moderation, and could not ramble on for too long.

“Aaaand we’ll be live in…ten, nine, eight…”

Travis licked his lips and the anchor sat upright.

“…five, four, three, two…” The man pointed, then stuck his thumb up.

The huge, intrusive camera lens was pointed directly at them and their bright background.The anchor faced it with the same smile: “Good morning, New York! I’m Lisa Matucci from CBS News, and WCBS-TV is coming at you live this morning, for a very special interview with a rather _unique_ guest.” Her voice was markedly louder and friendlier compared to her earlier complaint.

“I’m here with Travis Bickle, otherwise known as ‘The Taxi Driver Hero.’Two years ago, he saved a girl as young as twelve from a life of what we now know to be streetwise slavery, with a startling, growing prominence in Manhattan.After his miraculous healing in Greenwich Hospital, he has since lived an interesting life.An ex-soldier who served in Vietnam, we’re grateful to have him with us.Good day, Travis!How’s it going for you?”

“Thank you…” Travis forgot her name for a split second,“…Lisa.” A staffer behind the camera gestured for him to raise his voice a little louder.Travis cleared his throat, which sounded like a disposal of tobacco and alcoholic remnants clogged in his vocal cords after an indefinite week.“It’s good to be here, and I’m doin…good.Pretty good.” _Good._ That’s all he could say. 

“Thanks to all of you, really, for inviting me in the first place.”

“Now tell me, how does it make you feel to be called a hero?”

Travis’s wide, infectious grin spread over his face with reddening cheeks.“I’m not..”

The smiling anchor was already charmed: “Oh, don’t be all bashful.You are!”

“N-no, no, no no, heh-heh,” he shook his head.

“Come on, how does it feel?”

“It’s…it’s weird, I’ll admit.I actually don’t see myself as that.I was in a dark place and I just…what happened, happened, y-you know.I saw this girl was in trouble, and I thought it was the right thing to do.Firefighters, and the men still overseas, or the surgeons who’ve worked on me and others, I think they’re way more deserving of that title.Not me.”

“Speaking of firefighters, what do you think about the recent heat wave? We’re told it’s going to be a blazing summer, and the recent riots and fires coming up across the city could only make it worse.”

“I can only hope things won’t be too bad.And people respect the law.”

“Indeed.So, as you know, while many praise your actions, there’s still controversy over your brutality in the event, which feeds into wider debates about gun control, and your newfound archetype.Some even believe that you shouldn’t be celebrated, but that you should’ve been arrested! Well…let’s dive in! If you can, do tell us your side of the story.”

Travis told what he could, on his own terms.He was honest, but not explicit; he emphasized his mental state, his call to duty, and truly couldn’t help but make himself look better and better as his story went on.But it was a delicate balance, as he needed to criticize or humble himself to the extent that he earned more empathy with viewers.He knocked down the idea of vigilantism, and vouched for peace and order.His critics were entitled to their opinions, and he understood many of their mindsets anyway.He himself had expected an arrest.

He said he was “getting help,” but he knew that wasn’t entirely true.He did have friends now, he said, and that was always important to have.

“I will s-say,” he stuttered, “sometimes just a walk outside does wonders.Feeling the fresh air and the sun on your face, and getting g-good exercise.I was, um…I was at the park yesterday, actually, and there weren’t many people there.I feel that if we cleaned this city up, we would see many more, including children.There was a dog, though, a Rottweiler.H-He had a camouflage bandana around his neck, and a big set of…uh, sharp teeth.He was practicing tricks.That dog could do drills like a…” He was about to say “Nazi” but reverted to “…a Marine.”

“Wow, you’re right on about the outdoors! We all would get out more if our air quality was improved.And you have to love dogs!In fact, I was reading a wonderful article by astrologist Gina Strauss just the other day.She was saying that dogs actually share a collective conscience with us, and that’s why we connect.They’re attached to the heavens, as descendants of Sirius, the dog star.She might have a point.”

Travis furrowed his brows and looked to both sides in confusion.It was like he could feel his IQ drop a point with every word of that.He hated stupid people so damn much.

He crossed his arms and nodded.Travis’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he answered with a scarcely closed mouth: “Uh-huh.”

Lisa continued: “A Marine…you were a Marine, correct? Could you tell us a bit of what you saw over there?”

Travis fidgeted in his seat, further resting his arms on the sides.He looked to the ceiling, and then back to the anchorwoman.“Uh…not anything too special.I-I guess I was on a cross-bridge once…” he rubbed his chin.“And there was a prisoner exchange goin’ on; I was helping keep guard.There was no flounce, like in the movies.A truck came and literally snatched our prisoner without a word.He was thrown in, and they drove off.”

She shook her head, secretly trying to feel out if he was lying.“My goodness…that was it?”

“That was it! Like..” Travis smiled and snapped his finger, “…that! Whew!” He made a grabbing motion with a stiff hand.

“That must’ve been a sight to see!”

“It was.” His expression suddenly fell a little, and he sniffed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.“It’s a private thing, isn’t it? If it’s too painful—”

“Only painful for the weaker guys.”

She was stunned.“That’s um…rather…brave, to say, Travis.Why makes our mostly damaged veterans weak, exactly?”

“There were journalists and cameras over there.How much of that ‘suffering’ was filmed and shown on channels not too different from this one? It’s about as much agenda and violent exploitation as the papers on me.The media does like to spin stories.”

Lisa flicked her hand: “Go on.”

“Well, I…I’m still trying to figure out what trauma is supposed to indicate.Real trauma.I mean, when I was in Vietnam I would sometimes ride on small helicopters. I wasn’t just some soldier on the ground—I was in Special Forces.And I sat next to older, experienced men.Decorated.I talked with em, laughed with em, broke bread with em.But they were hypocrites, cause with their medals on they advised us never to draw attention.It’s supposed to be drilled into us.

Don’t get me wrong—I respected the boys I served with, and they woulda taken a bullet for me.I understand the terrible epidemic of homeless, abused, and drug-addicted vets we have on our streets.I wish I could change it, I truly do, ma’am.But…but these young guys out here, throwing around trauma like a buzzword, or like a shortcut to more sympathy…it’s attention-seeking, in my opinion.From what I know, true pain is hard to talk about.I knew a soldier with trauma: he swears up and down, I don’t have it, that’s not true.I’m no nut.Again, that’s my…my opinion.”

She tapped her mouth.“Interesting, very interesting.Thanks for sharing that, Travis, even if it might be unpopular.I know it’s hard.”

“No,” he continued, “I don’t believe that all of them have it, in full form.It’s extreme and I know not everyone over there was seein’ bodies drop left and right.You’d be surprised.”

“Do you think it affects you? You were explaining earlier why and how you snapped."

“I really don’t think so.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not weak.”

There was a pause, and Travis felt increasingly awkward.He probably shouldn’t have said all that in such a personal way.He could already foresee the heat from it.

Although he managed to relate it to his new business, which he could finally get to, and that was easier.Once again, he had to construct a good argument on what he wanted, mainly, a change: how it could happen, what it meant, why it was necessary.How it could help veterans, too.How it would improve the pervasive weakness from the wavering economy to unemployment to moral decay.Travis sincerely hoped that he didn’t sound foolhardy.

“…This is a matter of survival.Yeah, we got food and TV, but we can’t let how pampered we are blind us to the fact that what we’re living still counts on our ability to survive. We need our abilities and our grit to back it up; that’s what matters.I know I can’t, er, we, can’t change the WHOLE environment, but maybe this is a change that needs to start within ourselves first.Kind of like how we have to change our relationships or our outfits when we’re dissatisfied.With this business plan I have, we might not only be able to put this into action, but even allow our readers to do the same.A quiet revolution, I guess.My preferred method of survival? _The Renaissance of Character_.” He used the phrase he had first invented while briefly lost in the Met.

“I’m guessing,” Lisa wondered, “it won’t only be for taxi drivers.What do you think this whole venture lends to you, personally?”

“A purpose.Which man-manifests in that everyday expectation.I’m not just livin’ out my life.And, I can’t lie down and die, I have a purpose.I’m doing 100 times more than what most are doin.I need my reasons, and that solid understanding of what my life means.I need an expectation for it.That’s what most miss, so they mistake it for a physical problem like sleep, or diet.But they’ll never cure it, because it’s all locked in there-” He tapped his temple. “It’s all kinda mapped out.”

“So it’s like a self-help program, then? Is it like Lifespring?”

Travis blinked for a moment. “No, it’s nothing like Lifespring.” If he had to hear one more holistic, hippie…

“Even so, you’re doing a great job with great ideas! Hopefully our audience will take your words to heart.” She turned to the camera.“Mr. Bickle’s publishing company is fast flourishing and can be found on stands throughout Manhattan.Check him out.”

Travis pointed to the example papers he brought, and then put them back.

“Before you leave, I want to ask you a question or two…for fun! We’re all _dying_ to know…as a newfound sort of celebrity yourself, who’s your favorite star?” Half of him inwardly cringed at “celebrity,” and the other half reveled in it.

“Mmm…Burt Reynolds.”

“Least favorite?”

“Alfred Kinsey.”

“Finally, who’s your favorite musical artist…oh, your favorite song?”

“I-I want to know more about music, but I’m lacking behind.I don’t know…maybe, uh, Jackson Browne? Late for the Sky?”

“GOOD choice!”

Travis remembered something else he wanted to squeeze along with his growing confidence.He managed, very quickly, to reiterate that while the police are also everyday heroes, they didn’t let him escape completely.He didn’t say what he was in for (most would probably assume the shootout), but he heavily implied that the NYPD had touched him while he was in their custody, while gripping the rib that remained bruised for weeks.He said that system needed a “change” as well.

It was one of his first declarations of war.And he knew it—a slightly _smarmy_ look in his eyes had appeared.Like a live transformation, he went from a socially anxious, perhaps a shy little boy, stumbling on his quiet words…to a more devious, more clever man exploiting his and others’ opinions.

Lisa stretched to pat his armchair: “Thank you for your time, Travis—I know you’re a busy man.It’s been such a pleasure.”

“Aw, gosh…I’m glad. Thanks a lot.”

“Any last things?”

Travis straightened his back, and leaned forward.He folded his hands together and looked closer into the lens.His glower resembled a guiding but strict father-figure (a counselor? A leader?).He was gentle, but serious: “I also wanna give my own thank you, to everyone in this lovely city who’s supported me throughout everything.”He smirked. “I couldn’t do any of it without _your help._ ”

The camera turned back to her.“Well, there you have it!A big thanks to Travis Bickle for joining us, and to our terrific viewers.I’m Lisa Matucci, CBS News, New York City.Have a _great_ day.”

The woman continued to fake-grin at Travis, and Travis nodded with his own stifled smile.“Hmm-hmm,” he murmured.Then the sound and cameras turned off, and all smiles disappeared.

The TV screen cut to a shadowed backdrop of NYC and the program’s logo.A newsy voice spoke over it: “That was an interview with taxi driver Travis Bickle.This interview was partly funded by The Dependable Taxi Services of New York.This is WCBS-TV in New York City transmitting on Channel 2 by authority of The Federal Communications Commission. WCBS-TV is owned by CBS Incorporated, and operated by the CBS Television Stations Division. The programs broadcast by this station are for viewing for the public without charge, and may not be re-broadcast, recorded, or otherwise used, without the prior written permission of CBS Incorporated.

Our next regularly scheduled program will come to you at 7:05 AM.

Good morning!”

The screen changed to the American flag, and famous U.S. symbols and landmarks.The national anthem played.

“Channel 2, New York.”

The broadcast ended with a black-and-white test card screen.

The many families who had woken up to watch this interview before work or school across New York, oddly captivated by the man they remembered in that media’s crazy summer, listened to a continuous ringing sound and static.Travis’s head sounded similar.

———————————————

Travis was no longer allowed to fire guns at the firing range, by instruction.But no one ever said anything on whether he could _enter_ a firing range, such as to watch others.

Since he published that fast article on learning survival skills, the interest in fighting and weaponry had increased among the publishers.He only mentioned one line about this topic, and they ran with it.He hoped it wouldn’t tarnish his image of “peace.”

Many taxi drivers who feared for their lives just in a cab were taking their licenses to these ranges and shooting the guns offered.Owning the guns, however, was a different and difficult legal matter _entirely._ Specific guns could not even be operated without official permits and past experience.

Earlier, Travis, Adam, and Christina had played various weapons games themselves.Adam found that he was a natural at hatchet and axe sports.Travis was good with knives, wielding and throwing.Christina was the best at archery (and did not let anyone forget this), but she already had the practice from years ago.

Their last place to try their hands was the shooting range. Travis had to ensure that no officer of the law was following or watching him go inside.He wasn’t doing anything wrong, right?

Adam, meanwhile, was also hesitant.Guns, gunshots, and guns and gunshots _with Travis_ brought him painful memories, and no wonder.He could never quite hone in to what was appropriate to do with Travis and where he needed to keep his distance.If not for his safety, then at least out of the last particle of respect he had for his father.

Adam swore he had to go, and then two minutes later returned to say “never mind.”Travis shrugged it off.This was the first time he had companions with him while shooting.

Adam stalled again before going into the actual practice room.He smacked his hands onto his jeans and tried to think of a way to escape.

Christina stopped in her tracks to turn around.“Is something wrong?”

Adam was not in a hurry to frustrate her, but he saw Travis staring at him too.He swallowed and realized he had a metaphorical mushroom still stuck somewhere in his throat.

“Nope.I’m only…thinking.”

“No time to think when someone’s trying to blow your head off,” Travis said.

Adam still moved slowly.He tried to avoid their gaze until they re-focused on shooting.

“You know, the guy on the target almost looks a bit like you, Travis.If you were older.”

Travis examined the target again.“Huh.”

He gazed longingly at the people using various handguns, totally encased into his own zone that no one could break into.Adam fumbled, but started to get the hang of it.He knew people were watching him.

Christina was having a bit of a hard time herself.She was missing several shots and it was annoying her.She thought she may have been holding the gun wrong somehow.

“I thought you said you’ve shot guns before,” Travis leaned over to whisper.

“Yeah, shotguns, _real_ guns, not..” She looked at the handgun with contempt, “…not purse guns for little bitches.”

“Wouldn’t the recoil be worse with a larger gun, though? Those are the perfect size.”

She ignored him and shot while he still had half of his headgear pulled away.He jumped and looked quite angry after she shot.

“Oops.Sorry,” she said with little care.

“You need help?” Adam asked, which only made her scowl.

“I was telling Travis that I’m used to bigger guns, like rifles and shotguns—those few outdoor _expeditions_ when I was younger.Self-defense is a lot different from hunting rabbits and squirrels.These small, automatic ones are…weird.They hurt my wrists.”

“Oh no, God forbid they hurt your wrists!”

“Shut up.”

“Well I think I’m finally getting the target this time around.Just keep trying.”

They continued shooting until Travis stopped to talk to them.“This is basic self-defense stuff, guys, and should be handled carefully.Hope you realize that.”

“Like the MCMAP self-defense stuff you taught me and Irene?”

“You mean Iris?” Travis seemed offended that someone would even dare mistake her name, but Adam knew perfectly well what her name was.He just couldn’t act like he did.

“Yeah, her.”

“Preeeetty much like that.Sometimes I just need to shoot a thing or two, though.Shoot…something.Um…anyways.”

“Maybe this is something I can be good at, for once.And something Christina can be good at other than being a _babe._ ”He smirked at her.

Christina slowly nodded: “I would definitely disagree with that, but sure.”

“Really, you should have, like, 10 suitors by now.I’m surprised they aren’t lined up in the streets to have massive gladiator fights for your hand.”

“That _could_ be entertaining.But let’s be real here, anyone who hurts themselves over _me_ of all people is a moron.”

“Wait, you don’t wanna see them fight to the death, tear each other limb from limb? What happened to you?”

“I know. I’ve forgotten myself,” she shot, and missed, with a sigh. “I haven’t had my fill of that in a long while.Maybe that’s my problem.”

Travis joined in on the teasing: “He’s right.You know who you actually kinda remind me of? Theda Bara.”

Adam added, “Jackie Kennedy!”

“Actually, no…Billie Jean King,” Travis surmised.

“Alright, I get it. Jesus.”Christina rolled her eyes.Comments on her looks were not unfamiliar to her, not in her entire life.Travis seemed to sense this, and stopped.

Travis pretended to take an impeccable shot with his hand at the target, imagining it as the man trying to stop him.Why, it _did_ look a bit like him!

_Bang._

A wincing Adam had shot off a rather dense handgun: “Geez, that is loud.”

“Just a little bit,” Travis muttered, still staring off into the outer walls.

On another day, they also went to a spacey, outdoor range.They tried with the rifles, and Adam struggled.He was quick to reload, but his clumsiness was clearly affected with these bigger weapons.He seemed almost scared of this whole matter—he finally decided he was done.

However, Christina was finally at her most comfortable and experienced.She took her time and stumbled with reloading, and she had a habit of allowing the gun to rest in a dangerous direction or kept her finger on the trigger when she needed to release.But…she had excellent aim when she put her most effort into it.

She showed this with the bow and arrow, and now she was slowly but surely proving it with a firearm as well.Her rustiness was definitely obvious for the first half, but she could be a potentially great, and precise sharpshooter.Travis watched this newfound (newfound for him) prospect of hers with interest. 

A helper corrected her original stance, and she adjusted it.She set the rifle on a high elbow, one arm supported against her chest, her head straight, and her cheek brought to the stock.She slightly hunched to better handle the strong recoil.With the loudest sound in the range, she silently shot through the head of a poor deer target at a distance.

Adam took off the goggles and scratchy ear muffs.“I think I’ll be going on home now.I bought an encyclopedia on the history of magic and I’m ready to go home and dig into it.” He was probably much too old for it now, but as a child he had loved magic tricks: as a toddler his father would pull a coin from behind his ear.He admired Houdini, and at one point wanted to be an escape artist.He had fond memories of going to the Swedish Cottage Marionette Theatre with his family during the holidays.Afterward he would watch _Davey and Goliath,_ the Lutheran-made religious cartoon, and bounce off the walls from his hot cocoa.

But Travis’s thoughts dwelt on how they might further practice these skills—under the radar.He made a point that at least exercise (it was his new “faze” from the interview), would be beneficial.Adam was still intent on working out like Travis did, so Bickle was goaded into explaining where to begin.

“You’re really tall, I don’t think it should be too hard,” he’d said.“Eat right and stay active.”

Christina already had the athletic build, as she used to play sports, but she was a little soft now.Travis asked about her height.

“5’6.”

“That’s a good size.Yeah, I can see you gainin’ more muscles.You’re…bulky.”

“Uh, what does that mean?” Her look was critical.

“It means you’re built like a linebacker,” Adam said.

“That might be true, but,” she deadpanned, “I shouldn’t over-exert my joints.”

“You’ll be fine.The more you test ‘em out, the stronger they’ll be.Take some vitamins or something.”

They were kindly “inspired” to take up arms and weights, apparently.And Travis reminded Christina that Wizard, Doughboy, Charlie T, and Ralph would be visiting the shop the following night.That was when she’d be watching it, so she would have to talk to them.She ground her teeth at that.

——————————————

It was a lonely and quiet night on Madison Street.Although the distant train from East Broadway could be heard amid the street, which contained shops, tenements, doctors’ offices, and educational buildings.

“I meant I was coming down Madison Square, ya deaf fuck.Not goin’ down on Madison’s square.” Wizard’s bawdy comment and the ensuing laughs entered the publishing shop.

Christina had been sitting by herself with the typewriter, stumped.Her words and ideas were printed on a rough draft in front of her:

_“It is not just the taxis, or the drivers themselves.It is the metaphor for the taxi.”_

_“Most people discharge them as servants: the methods of getting from point A to point B.The drivers themselves insist that it’s either a simple job, or a monumental task.Really, it’s the metaphor for blue-collars either trapped or protected in an enclosed machine.There could be some degree of control there, or of independence, and status.On the flip side, it could be something separated and lonely.Perhaps even mysterious.It’s rather a class division too: the client and the supplier.But it doesn’t have to be all this, because there’s some agreement.The passenger chooses where to go, and the driver chooses whether to follow the order or not.Everything is done by choice,”_

The longer she gaped at it, the less sense her first, rough argument made.

The article on avoiding common dangers was edited several times.She had to cut down the extra meat from the middle to fit the typical word count.She had the available selling points names written with their time slots.That took a whole train’s journey through a bulk of the city.

She procrastinated when she picked up some lentil soup and a small gyro.She was just finishing it when the door closed with a force.She quickly swallowed the last scoop with her plastic spoon, crushed the styrofoam cup, and tried to throw it all into the trash.It landed on the floor instead, and she sluggishly picked it up.

“Wow,” Wizard looked around. “This place has grown since I was here last.”

Travis already had a suitable following of devoted taxi drivers, but the ones he was closest to truly only had their names assigned to the business.They neglected most work on his behalf; more like honorary members.Wizard still doubted the logic of the business itself—or what it was even for or about.

But they knew Travis was counting on them.He had talked to them a week ago, and suggested in his polite way that they might revisit, and take some offers. 

Wizard saw Christina, and looked around again.“Where is everybody? Travis ain’t here?”

This was the third time she faced them, and she was still a bit uneasy about it. 

“No.It’s me tonight.”

The drivers inspected the place, and then decided they should probably come back when it was busier.Christina got up to block them.

“Guys, it would mean a lot to Trav if you—”

Wizard cringed.“Trav”—like she’s known him her whole life or something, when he’s known him longer.

“Now we gotta hear from the gearhead!” Ralph snarked.

“This ‘gearhead’ knows what she’s talking about.Maybe you could try listening to her.” 

Ralph countered, “You sure didn’t know shit when you got water in my taxi’s engine at repair.”

Christina’s head was bent as her ears turned red.If only she wasn’t so easily angered, and easy to blush.They couldn’t see her like this, but it was currently hard to vocalize.She needed to take charge before they ganged up on her again.

“Listen,” she positioned her hand in the air, “go ahead and take a seat.Try to hear what I’m going to explain to you, and see if this job could be worthwhile.What else do you have to do?”

They finally assented, and sat in empty chairs around her.She put a finger up: “One moment.” She carried in a white board which she hung on the wall, and took out a marker.

“Unless there’s another algorithm that I’m not aware of,” she sighed.“This is the gist of it—so let’s get it over with.”

Christina dove into her own calculations over what could happen, how it would carry out, and what everything might cost.At first, she tried parroting Travis’s fear tactics: “What happens when the phone lines are cut under the ocean? What happens when an electromagnetic attack destroys our technology that helps grow our food, and supplies our water?”

“We go back to the Stone Age?” Answered Charlie T.

“What’s that have to do with publication?” Was Doughboy’s question.

“Well…never mind.When we’re forced to confront problems that we made ourselves, we will often do anything in our power _not_ to.I understand your concerns, but we have to see if this can actually work.” 

She demonstrated her equations onto the board: “The simple interest, or I, is found in the principal called P, with a rate of r for a total of t years…so I’ll write that down.So every month you use the compound formula with n, or the frequency, and that rounded result is what should end up in your bank accounts.So we’re going to substitute everything and find n, and multiply a year’s quarter to get the quarterly rate.And there you go, the perfect salary.”

The drivers stared, blinked, and sighed.It was like being back in school, and they were listening to the snoozing math teacher: she even had the same uninterested voice.They couldn’t wait to get out for recess: or the hack’s graveyard shift.

Christina counted on her fingers: “Fares are up around 20% from the turn of the century…a typical ride costs, what, two dollars…um—yes, probably 40 cents more, and with the fees of…huh….my point, is that with the combined expenses from taxi driving and publishing, if you join, would not only mean a higher quality of life, but would also encourage skill-building.And, I think, support your families better than it has in the past, _ehh_ , five years?”

She thumped the marker’s head on her palm, as she stood back to observe her work. _Wait—that’s not right-_

“I think you’re forgetting present value,” Doughboy pointed out, the only one remotely interested.

She pointed at him with the marker: “Doughboy, I like you, I really like you.But you should let me concentrate.”

Christina twisted her mouth, eyes closed. “Oh… _oh,_ you’re right.” She crossed out a line. “Psh, my bad.”

She pointed at him for the second time: “Smart!” Doughboy smiled at her flattery. 

Someone threw crumpled paper at her, and it bonked her forehead.On instinct, she checked it. “Nice.Paper cuts are fucking satanic.”

She actually appreciated their reaction—it signified to her that she wouldn’t win anyone over without charisma, of course! She was no longer around stuffy academics to impress. _They’ll need more time to like me, I get it.Mesopotamian ziggurats weren’t built in a day._

The men decided that they wanted to take a look around, and to examine the newspapers and how they’re made a little closer.Doughboy even tried to crank a machine himself.Christina followed as if it was her made universe.

Charlie T picked up a paper to sniff it.“It even smells like paper in here.Feels smooth.”

“It has a scent, that’s interesting.How does it _look_ to you? Good?”

Charlie T pursed his mouth, and nodded.

“Wicked.” _You can help sell it._

“What kinda ink is been used,” asked Doughboy.

“I guess it’s…ink.”

“Right, but what kind of ink?”

“It’s ink.” Christina’s response silenced him.

“I have lots of personal driving stories, by the way.”

Christina gave Ralph a notepad so he may practice writing these stories down.

“ _Lots_ of village idiots.That’s what you’ll be hearing.” Wizard flipped through pages.

“I know what you mean,” Christina joined.“I was editing, and someone had made not one, not two, but _three_ mistakes on the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ It’s such a drag when I’m forced to interact with these buffoons.There’s no excuse for illiteracy in this day and age…sorry, I was just a bit…perturbed by that…we’ve been on this planet long enough to know the difference.”

The spacey Doughboy inquired, “What if they made the mistake on purpose?”

She narrowed her eyes: “Why? They’re dumb on purpose.Not even in a funny way.”

She remained unfazed: still-faced even when they made each other guffaw.Not much concerning them amused her…they could at least start an argument, or whatever.She hardly heard their dark jokes while she zoned out.Shock humor couldn’t be completely sexual, murderous, minority-centered, or “dead baby” jokes.It was so overdone.The joke has to _bite._ But she was determined to convert this group to the winning side.

Therefore, she soon learned that her words weren’t winning her any favors, so she decided to act friendlier, more humble; i.e., to stay quiet during their conversations and learn about them.Until they were more intent to listen. 

They used simple language, but the cab terms were lost on her: she wasn’t a driver.How did they have every street, avenue, and building memorized? She could barely recall the name of her adjoining street.It was a wonder how she even travelled around.

“People asking me,” Wizard heightened his voice to a slow, womanly pitch: “Driver, where’s the mayor at today? Driver, when’s the pageant parade this year?”

“Fuck.” Wizard threw up his arms, broadening his expression. “Like I’d know. ‘Driver, is it gonna storm today?’What am I, a goddamn fortune teller?”

“Be careful with them women, if they ask you to stop for…favors.” Ralph carefully eyed the rest.“The last cat I knew who took that offer…” Doughboy immediately wondered what happened to him.

“He had gonorrhea; the clap…lit him up like breakfast grease.”

Wizard stroked his chin. “Poor bastard.That’s what ya get for nutting in a bad daisy.”

“It’s running rampant around here, man.”

In a near-whisper, Christina observed, “Along with cynicism and toe cheese.”

Charlie T added: “I’d tell ‘em all to check yourself before you wreck yourself.The men got it all over their hands, too…I ain’t playing, boy! I’ll fuck your day right up!”

Luckily, each agreed to return and to send ideas, although only Charlie T and Doughboy collected actual papers to give away in their cabs.Ralph was compelled to voice his doubt on Travis’s new “outlook” and “powers.”

Christina answered, “Why are you making it sound so…diabolical? I think he wants to instill a change of heart, not a fascist state.Sure, he’s no Henry V, but he’s trying.”

“I didn’t know you cared that much.” Wizard made it clear that he was here to support Travis, not specifically to buy into _her_ lies.It was like they were competing on who would be Travis’s right-hand.

She glared while twisting a toothpick into her maw.Followed with: “Fuck you!”

There was a collective “oooh.”

Wizard put his hands up: “Sorry, I’m sorry.My take.”

“If you want to start this with me, then we’ll dig right in.My turn to ask: why does Travis always speak to you in private?”

“Friendly matters.”

“Friends? I thought you were lovers.” She was teasing, but at least it may explain why he seemed to dislike her with varying passion—jealousy.

“Damn, The Wizard of York and The Wicked Witch of the South are at it again!” Ralph pepped.He was there for the first time.It was more like the borderline nihilist or existentialist (Wizard) and the try-hard Ubermensch (Christina) were at it again.

“You guys are so…insufferably rude.I didn’t even do anything to you…and yet _I’m_ the big bad witch, huh.As if I can’t be trusted.”She held out her wrist with a small smile: “Does my hand smell like chloroform to you?”

The others soon left, but Wizard stayed to confront Christina with folded arms.“I appreciate what he’s doing, and I’m trying to support him.It’s just..” Wizard refrained from telling his inner musings.Perhaps Travis had something she wanted.

Her voice lowered: “I’m only one person, so obviously I can’t handle every single thing under the sun.I need help, man.”

“Ya see, I’m in a little bind.I’m busy, I got carpal tunnel in my wrists…I don’t even know what’s so important about fucking taxis.”

Christina tried to explain the same argument she made in her rough draft, seeing if it sounded better aloud.“Does, uh…do you understand?” 

It was decent, and it somewhat reassured Wizard of her reliability.That her opinions were her own, not forgeries.

“I definitely like your point on makin’ choices, especially.I mean, who wants to be controlled in every parcel of their lives? Certainly we could improve ourselves, and our cities with our choices, too.Like a steering wheel…there’s always another way to everything.A third route.”

She causally rubbed her eye as there was a respite.Wizard speculated on whether they could work together on projects.

“When you’re not a total jackass.This is an undertaking, and I don’t want you to feel pressured if you can’t do it.Definitely focus on your family if that’s more important.They come first.”

“You’re one to talk!” His scoff was hurried.“I am interested.I do wanna make more of myself, and…I don’t wanna keel over and leave my family like this.I’m not afraid of dying, but I do worry about how I’ll be remembered…I don’t know.”He especially felt a husband’s guilt. 

_Want to live longer? Then quit stuffing your face with toxins, Porky._

“In that case, there’s always help if you need it, and I’m sometimes available.You should try it,” she encouraged. “I’ll give you my number, okay?”

To better learn his manners and feelings, she let him voice his troubles to her.But she was caught off guard when he turned it around, wondering what kept _her_ from reaching her full potential.

“The 70s isn’t called the ‘Me Decade,’” she quoted with her fingers, “for no reason.”

“It seems like everywhere I go in Manhattan, I’m surrounded by some extreme or another, and somehow they’re _all_ insincere.All the rich fakes and the poor freaks.I don’t know what to do with that.I don’t know…where to go.My only option is to find the third route, to reassess myself….and I’m always, always myself.”

Wizard ruminated.“Um, I just heard you puttin’ down the whole ‘me’ focus.”

“Yeah, but I can _be_ me without shoving it in everybody’s face.Even my creations are entirely based on what I’ve learned.”

He tightened his arms, further pensive.

“…But I never wanted to turn into a pessimist, or even worse, stay in poverty…I grew up in that kind of environment.I did anything I could to get out of it, and I’m still doing just that.I’ve been stabbed in the back…but I’ll run through everything on this obstacle course of mine until I drop dead.When I did stop to rest—with the population, or the extremes, well, they chewed me up and spat me back out…every time.”She held her elbow with discomfort. “It sort of hurt.”

“If you feel so rejected, why continue to bother with people?”

“Because I have to keep up the search for my third way.That’s what inspires me.”

She started to the door for his leave.“So no, I can’t see an overall benefit to this…this publishing…thing. _However,_ it gives me something to do, and something to climb on.At least I already work with cabbies, at least there’s that.I mean look at me, I’m so ungainly…a-and…where else do I fit in?”

“Ya still sound a bit bitter.”

“No, I’m not bitter.That’s a flavor.”

“Kid..” he stopped her from the door, his hand on her shoulder.

She was a bit offended at the referral.“I’m only three and a half years from thirty.”

“Meh, a kid to me.” Wizard’s understanding smile elevated.“Never be afraid to stop, rest, and think before da next hurdle.Tell life to fuck off….before ya hit the wall at full throttle.”

By unwrapping his layers, it could be that she was trying to trick him into full membership.She liked to trick, but Wizard was wisened and could see it.She was more so a rookie.If anything, he could sense that she might struggle with her identity, and her new goals were further preventing development.

“Figuring out why something is and why it isn’t…in this wonderful world, does become a real brain-drain for me.Dead-on.”She offered her hand to shake.

He gradually grasped it: “What do we get outta this?”

“Corporate sponsorship?” Her next smile came and went.

“What do you want?”

Shrug. “I want what I want.”

He shook her hand, and bid her a safe, good night.

——————————————

Betsy was hovering around her sink. 

What a draining, revealing, and _backwards_ week.The Hopkins House in upstate Binghamton, of her youth, seemed like a lost place of comfort now.

Though she was fully aware of what awaited her there: her mother Annabelle neglecting, worrying, and then scolding over her ignored health.Finding out, calling her a whore and “accidentally” turning the boiling hot water on her hands as they washed dishes, and her father at her defense in a moment’s notice.She and her father, Frederick, would have had a deep conversation over the state of the country, humanity, and probably Rice Krispie Treats.Her parents would get into an argument because of Betsy’s stupid mistakes.Annabelle would complain of over-tiredness and retire early.Frederick would quietly, sadly clear the long dining table under the antique chandelier and excuse himself.

The disappointment on his face would hurt her more than any of it.He would still try to forgive her, still call her “Bee.”

No, she can handle herself here.

Or try to—she was slow-going these days.She had missed several days of work from recent unexplained health issues, and she simply didn’t have the energy.That was most unlike this punctual, hardworking young woman.She realized there was a serious problem when she slept in late one morning.Tom’s knock woke her up.He was alarmed when he saw her in a wrinkled t-shirt, grey pants, un-groomed hair, and no makeup.Her face was pale.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“What?”

“Where have you BEEN?”

“Wha, what time is it?”

Tom was actually sent to check on her (that was how useful she was to the scandalized campaign), and he demanded to know where she’s been—in every sense.Betsy apologized, touting that she was merely behind.Meanwhile, she couldn’t even bear to look at Tom.It was her back-and-forth between him and Travis with a delicious side of stress that was sending her batty.

Along with her moods, she’d been experiencing a wonky appetite, lethargy, dizziness, and the frequent urge to urinate.

She made a doctor’s appointment, still as awkward checking in by herself as she was as a child who had fractured her wrist.The urine test was even worse; she had to carry it back in a cup like it was evidence of her wrongdoings, and she expected the insults and tomatoes.Instead, no one said a word.

The doctor asked for any further suspicious symptoms. Betsy rejected each question, including the one on morning sickness (she could already hear her mother’s voice - “not all women get it.I didn’t!”).He said that they would contact her with the results very soon.

Betsy suspected a potential pregnancy when she used the bathroom, and the toilet paper was clear.She always tracked down which date her period would begin on a calendar (weirdness be damned), and that day was supposed to be correct.She never missed her periods anymore, though they were something she wanted to wish away.Heavy and lengthy, they incorporated crabby attitude and back pain.She wanted to nod off at work, or shift her sitting position to avoid a stain. 

Men would accuse her of it any time she expressed a deep emotion.Fuck them!

Betsy chastised herself when washing her hands with aloe soap on its ivory dish.At her most desperate she even longed for a possible miscarriage, as horrible as she knew that was, curled up on her bed.

If it was true, she suspected it was Tom’s—his condom slipped off for that brief moment in their steamy taxi union.But the thought of other men’s fluids on that seat haunted her.

She wouldn’t tell anyone until she got the results, because she could already hear the nasty jokes flying that she was “Palantine’s mistress, carrying his love-child.” Nasty, nasty.

Even praying was an option, which she couldn’t remember the last time she did. _Please forgive me._ She was an idiot seeped in sin; she would become a nun, or something.She even begged for forgiveness over her comments to her sister—this must be her punishment for it.After packing for the family trip, her recently married, and very young sister had secretly admitted to Betsy that she was pregnant, only days after her wedding.Betsy went off, complained that she had her whole life ahead of her, and mulled that both pregnant women and their children were “liabilities.” That she wasn’t ready to be an aunt, and her older, new husband manipulated her into this, somehow.She regretted it and apologized, as she failed to see Georgie’s own readiness to be a mother.

Fate was on Betsy’s side, however.The results were negative.The cause was likely a stress-induced urinary tract infection, which was likely chronic, recurring, and debilitating. Antibiotics, rest, and drinking less tea were recommended.

That _kind_ of made sense, since Betsy had a history of recurring bladder issues since childhood, for unknown reason.Annabelle embarrassed her daughter when she told her first boyfriend this, when they had met.However, the intense feelings of stress and strong emotions she had been feeling were left unopened. 

The doctor had only brought up if she had any history of mental illness in her family, or had experienced the rare but possible symptoms of a “false pregnancy” before. _Implying_ that it was all in her head, or that she may have mania.

At least her meeting with Tom was easier on her.On that workday’s break, they were talking on the street, eating frosted vanilla and chocolate black-and-white cookies, an NYC specialty.

“Tom, what did Madden say again about the claims of voter suppression in Washington Heights?”

“It’s been up 60% only in this last midterm election.I swept through the other reports last night.”

“Good boy.We need to record the new statistics within this week before we’re attacked on every side.”

“But, didn’t we defraud these claims in East Village just a year ago?”

“Mm.” Betsy tried to speak with her mouth full, “Not really…” she wiped the crumbs off of her lips.“You could technically say we did, but in truth it was only a mock process.The polls arestill going, meanwhile the market’s improving, I think we should be together, and yeah, boom! More results will pour in.”

“I guess you’re right.I don’t see why…wait…what was that?”

Betsy nervously moved, and shoved the last of her cookie while Tom was processing.

“I said what I said.” She crossed her arms tight.

“Oh…uh oh…” Tom looked befuddled. “Uh oh, Spaghetti-O.”

He never thought their friendship would lead to this point, but he wasn’t complaining either. 

Betsy thought it was necessary after their previous skirmish.She was caught up in one mess after the other, and having his stability, and the incentive to stay with him, seemed to point to the more responsible decision.But, nothing beyond that—she wouldn’t tie the knot while every other knot bound her tighter. 

Besides, that would mean a rushed wedding, and May-June weddings were _cliche_.

“I swear I can still smell…” the teasing Tom whiffed, “…those panties.”

She arched her eyebrows.“You sniffed my underwear? Why you creepy little _twerp!_ What in the world?” It was such a random and weird thing to say, but she couldn’t help laughing.

He laughed as well.“I don’t mean it.Although, I probably still would have if I had the chance.Yes, Bets, I have my creepy moments…and I know fully well that you’re all about it.” He winked.

“Stop making me smile, this is serious!”

“That’s exactly the time to smile.It makes it easier.” Betsy did smile, but it was only a small reprieve.That didn’t stop her from the last order to Tom to collect those stats. 

Tom put on his best, slickest detective Kojak impression: “Who loves ya, baby? Yer beautiful.” He ended it with an air smooch and a pretend lollipop in his mouth.She leaned over and elbowed him.“Ouch!”

They discussed it further on their next sushi date.Tom tried his best to uplift her with a pinched, red face (too much wasabi and sake).Oh yes, Betsy could get used to this. 

She only needed to settle it with Travis, now.

The last time these three talked, Travis had followed her home after catching her on the street in his taxi, while Tom was actually waiting for her at her apartment entrance.They had no choice but to speak, and speak—and argue—they did!

They tried to be cordial, but it turned sour early on.Tom mentioned being Jewish and having familial survivors from the Holocaust.Travis responded with passive accusations concerning blood libels, communists, “Jewish-controlled Hollywood,” _The Protocols of the Elders of Zion,_ and the Palestinian attacks on the Israelis at the 1972 Olympics in Munich. 

Travis said he remembered watching it while stationed in Cambodia, and he believed Israel was ultimately to blame for taking their land, and setting the standard with their own terrorism at the King David Hotel.Then, he was docile, and claimed he “respected the Jews”and sympathized greatly with the victims of Nazi genocide.Tom, in turn, said he was uneducated, no matter how much he tried to prove it with bogus information and military history books.

Tom claimed: “The Jews are God’s Chosen.”

And Travis countered, “Only the Elect are chosen in Calvinism.”

Naturally then, the argument turned religious and political: the big no-nos.

The issue with the IRA was debated.Tom valued voters, heavier taxes on the rich, and the cultural impacts of immigration.Many of his earlier family members and ancestors were oppressed yet optimistic immigrants.Travis feared the “military-industrial complex” and the “scientific-technological elite” that Eisenhower warned of in his farewell address.He remembered listening to it live many years ago, when he was young, and recording the complicated words and meanings in a notebook to fall back to. 

Travis was upset with the world, and Tom and Betsy listened to his humbly-told publishing plans therefore.They were interested. Especially since Bickle was clearly now motivated to learn at a fast pace.

Tom mentioned evolution, touting the obvious resemblance to apes and scientific proof of the Big Bang.Science was an incredible thing.

Travis said that birds were perfectly designed to fly, and fish to swim.Thus, he found it to be a stupid theory, but he acknowledged Tom’s opinion.He didn’t know much about science anyway, so no further comment.

Betsy, no matter how much she interrupted with offers of snacks and a movie, was forced to watch it go down, drinking her mimosa.It reached its peak when Betsy herself was brought up—neither religion nor politics was so personal to them. 

As soon as she heard her own name, Betsy couldn’t take it anymore.She excused herself, calmly saying she was going to the bathroom.Turning on the faucet and planting to the floor to drown out her exhausted sobs and their rising voices.

“If she’s screwed up, then that’s on her; and she can make up for it herself.But I’m not just gonna stand for this.If you really cared about her, then you should never have tried to put your dirty mitts on her.And the way you’ve embarrassed and disrespected her, so many times.Even now! Why are you so sadistic, man?”

“Maybe you could’ve defended her better, if you’re her advocate.”

“Is there a problem? Because if there’s any problem at all, feel free to tell me.To my face.I know you feel like an outsider, but you can always talk to me rather than be angry at everyone else.That’s your immature philosophy showing, but you know what? I don’t blame you, because I’ve been in the same boat.We just don’t want you to…uh, make any missteps again.Though somehow I don’t think you have the spine for confrontation anymore.No, you’ll be fine!”

Betsy had enough.She couldn’t stand another second of this sappy “melodrama.”It made her sick.Her life was supposed to be a realist epic, not a cheap soap opera.Yet, lo and behold…

She wiped away her tears and stood up to turn off the water.No one—not even family—could define who she was, and no one could act so inappropriately as they were now in her _own_ home.She charged out the door, straight toward the men to give them a piece of her over-extended mind…

…and they were laughing!

She must have in there for a time, because they were a bit more chummy, sharing anecdotes. Mostly, the talkative Tom dominated.There was no way they forgave each other but apparently they were willing to fraternize for a minute.Betsy figured that that’s how men must operate—women could hold grudges for a lifetime.

“Are you doing okay over there, Bets?” Tom asked.“That was a long bathroom break.”

“Yeah…all fine and dandy.” She forced a quick grin, then sat down with them.

After small-chat, Betsy told them she was tired, and they could leave at any time. _How can I continue to handle both of you in the same room and not get hypertension?_

Before Tom left in his conflicted feelings, he pulled Betsy aside: “You’re actually gonna stay here with him? The guy’s a schlep.The taxi driver doth protest too much, methinks.”

“Shh! He can probably hear you! I have to tell him alone.Now I told you to go get those polls done, you lazy goober.”

They shared a friendly smile, Tom giving her a little comforting rub.He shook hands with Travis, with the typical formalities.Travis said he would walk him outside.

She eventually waved to them from the door.

Now, Travis had returned, and Betsy was hovering around him and the sink with magnetism.

He was at her fridge, asking if she had milk.Then he took the carton out and poured it into the empty glass.He drank it in one down, and then refilled it.

Betsy watched with interest.She decided to put on a record to quell any more discomfort.

After the tunes played, she came back to Travis snapping her fingers, swaying herself.He didn’t dance. _But he will with me._

She pulled his hand, drawing him close to her.He was stiff for a moment—not budging, and Betsy wasn’t strong enough to move him.A little more coaxing, and he followed.

“Can you dance?”

“Just can sing.I was in choir.”

Betsy found that very hard to believe.“Well, I’m sure you have just a beautiful voice,” she ribbed with a smile.“Tom can dance…he can do ‘The Hustle’ like a champ.”

Travis stood uncomfortably.He had meant to leave, but he was also antsy to hear Betsy’s confession…though he was sure he knew what it was.She was clearly elongating it, proving Travis’s suspicions.He wouldn’t force it out of her, but he wished she’d rip off the bandaid all the same.

But he played the fool for now.With a flash of a smile, he moved his arms up, and shifted them side to side.He moved his feet to the sides a bit, almost in imitation of a Western dance.His joints and movements became a lot more fluid before he awkwardly stopped.

Betsy grinned and clapped, grabbing him again so they may dance together.It was a slow song, and she clasped her hands and aligned her body with his.She instructed the rest.

They slow-danced in a circle until it was repetitive.Travis was getting dizzy, and he didn’t even twirl or dip her until she prodded him to.He stepped on her feet three times and she stumbled three times, in-tune with the record-skip.

She finally changed it to a faster waltz.She told him to put a firmer hand on her waist.Was that a blush she saw, or just his dizziness?

As they slowed, Betsy leaned her chin to Travis’s shoulder.“You should leave after this, Travis.This wasn’t how I planned it; what was supposed to be our friendship.I’m so sorry.”

She was a sneaky little thing, wasn’t she? Clearly she still hadn’t learned her lesson not to play with others, Travis concluded.

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I do, but, maybe tonight’s not the night, you know? It’s been an awfully stressful day.”

“Sorry, Betsy.”

“Don’t be sorry…I just didn’t have the best day.”

“I mean, I’m sorry for offending you guys.I-I don’t try to cause trouble.”

“No.No, it’s…forget about it.I know you like to keep to yourself, but it’s a good thing to voice it out, sometimes.”

“Glad you understand.”Travis always imagined Betsy to be another lonely figure who understood him.

Suddenly, she felt his hand just barely move from her waist, down to her rear-end.She quickly pulled it up, lightly pushing him.“Um, Travis—what are you doing?”

“Last time I didn’t have the luck…but maybe you could help me get it workin’ again.”

Betsy looked prepared to smack him.“Are you crazy? We’re not…Tom is—”

“What about Tom?” Travis stepped forward.“Can you be honest with me, if ya don’t mind? Did Tom and you make it?”

Betsy swallowed.He _knew_. 

She led him to her bedroom.She softly cracked the door, and sat on the edge of her bed.

Standing across, Travis stared at her.

She began by sincerely apologizing, then reiterating what a “good person” she knew him to be underneath his “rough edges.”She rambled on how she and Tom met, what they’d been through, and how they grew close.It was difficult for her to describe the situation at hand, how Tom and Travis were caught up in it.What was going through her head at the time.Then the medical issues, the pregnancy scare, and how it pained her to see them bicker.She wanted to mend and let go.She only wanted to continue on with her busy life without anymore “needless drama.” Then, the next apology.

“I wanted to dance and play around…because I wanted to make this easier on you,” she explained. “I know I must be enemy number one right now, but please try to understand.I’m honestly so exhausted, that I have a pounding headache.I’m too sick to function…”

He had no idea how incredibly hard this was on her.She _never_ meant to hurt someone, even when it was required.While she wanted to stay loyal to her cause, job, morals, and to Tom, she knew that her own strong feelings for Travis would not be erased anytime soon.This was what she felt to be the safer option in the long-run, but under totally different circumstances, and if they were more mindful people, Betsy and Travis could have reached heights together.They could have healed together.

But their flaws were showing.And Travis repeatedly refused professional help, as if this was an offense to him.It got to where it was better not to bring it up at all.

Travis now was quiet.Very, very quiet.He listened, but his facial expression had blanked. 

“Can’t you say something?”

Travis opened his mouth for a second.He tried to speak with a rasp: “You…you shouldn’t feel too bad.We ain’t even together, so, it’s not that big of a deal.And I knew this was coming.”

“I’m going to…”

“Going to go out? It’s real late, though.No reason for that.”

“No, silly.I’m going to…stay with Tom.In a, a relationship…that’s beyond professional.That doesn’t mean that I don’t cherish our outings and conversations together, and I still want to stay good friends with you.I-I’m very sorry, I’m—“

“Okay.B-But now it’s weird, since I almost _slept_ with you, in that bed you’re sitting on.I, I really thought our connection was going somewhere.If I’m being honest with ya, I’d love to be free of others’ obligations and whatnot, to have more time for my own pursuits.”

“No offense, but sometimes I feel like you don’t listen.Especially during the last time that I tried to break this to you.”

“I’m sorry—I thought I was a good listener.But communication just isn’t my strong point; I kinda get confused with it all.I’m working on it, I’ll fail if I don’t, and I’m also not good with phones.”

“I understand, and I want you to always be confident in yourself.My point is, I really can’t figure you out.You don’t want to listen, then you do.You’re all over me, then you act like you don’t care.You liked my companionship…and, I guess you don’t now?”

“Of course I like you.I’m just sayin’ I’m busy anyway, and if we were together, I know you would eventually feel neglected, and then you’d resent me.I want to provide the best I can, but…I mean I’m still willing to do that because I’m a good guy, but not if you’re pushing me to the side for everything else shiny in your path.I might be able to send you some savings for your campaign donations, but if you don’t even accept that than I’m at a loss.”

“That’s…super sweet, Travis.And, I’ve noticed y-you’ve made such amazing changes! I’m not sure if I can accept it _right_ now…”

He closed his eyes, waving a hand. “Whatever, that’s all right.Maybe Tom will take it.Maybe he’ll _listen_ to you.”

Betsy bowed her head in shame.“I know we’re discussing _your_ issues, but this is my fault.I’ve been stuck.Selfish.”

“It’s just miscommunication, which like I said I’m already lousy about.It happens to all of us distracted up in our heads without much care these days.At least we’re looking out for ourselves, right…and you did so sneaking behind my back.At least the way I do it allows me to buy junk like that $6,000 car out front.I found fingerprints on it earlier, just so you know, and that’s my personal property, so it’s fine if you accidentally touched it, but—”

“Stop.We’re getting off track.This…thing, this very unusual thing between us, should be buried in peace.I want us to always respect each other; I mean that.I still hold a special place for you, and it hurts me to say all this, trust me.I have a heart too.”

“Shit, I know I sound rude.My apologies.Obviously, I have something that pulled you in.I won’t even lie, I know it’s corny, but when I first saw you standing on that street among the rest, I felt like I was in the presence of an angel…who was sent down to bring the good word, and bless those around her…caught in their evil.Looking so lovely in white.And I don’t care if other guys would rag on me if they heard that.”

Betsy sighed wearing a smile:“Oh.Oh man.” She couldn’t imagine how he must feel, given the brutal extent to which he struggled with relationships.“That was beautiful.I…well I, I’m not an angel—I wish! That is so nice.There were times where I honestly thought you were using me, some how or another.”

“I wasn’t.Rest assure.”

“Have you felt this sort of way about anyone else?”

“No.”

She tried to carry on talking alongside her nerves:

“Travis, you know how I’ve been feeling.And you know you’re not the only one who can feel terribly alone in a crowd. _You_ told me that…you.I even briefed you on Palantine’s sticky situation against the rules, so I think it’s reasonable for me to ask that you understand.”

“What do ya want me to say? I shot my chance—once, and I failed.”

“But that’s not the case now.Help me so I can help you.I can’t do all this myself, and there’s no way you can do everything you’ve planned without a lot more support…I only want to help.If you could let me…”

“Help? What’s that mean, help? Is there a fucking label on my forehead, says I need help? Like I’m some broken charity case waiting just for you? Is that what you think? Should I tell you everything I’ve seen, and done…would that make your day better?” He shook his head. “You wanna hear it? Never mind, you don’t gotta answer…”

“No, no, no! What I mean is what I said—you can’t change it in your situation.The world.It’s like your Don Quixote, nose-deep into your books, chasing windmills, and you can’t just break out of this… _bubble_ , you’ve created—”

“I KNOW THAT!”

His sudden yell, the burst of anger, halted Betsy.He grabbed her dresser.“I KNOW THAT.”

He sat on a stool, rubbing his eyes until his fingers returned to each other.And his voice returned to its honey-smooth softness, but with a teetering break.“I know that.You win some, you lose some.”

“You know…Tom had a point about how you can treats others.Why is it that, unless she’s totally _yours_ in every sense, you can’t treat her right? Men have to tear down everything in their path that they can’t possess…gosh, no wonder there’s so much war!Oh, and do porn dates ring a bell? How about harassment?”

Shifting, Travis released a frustrated sigh. _This again?_

“I took you to see Star Wars not too long ago.I paid for your food as well, which I know you can definitely pay for yourself.” He looked around her nice apartment.“If there’s anything more you want, then tell me.” He sounded sarcastic.“I’ll go buy you some more milk.”

“I just hope nothing ends in litigation, that’s my take.I’ve had enough brought to book lately.”

“What’s that? A legal term?”

Her eyes blazed at him: _What do you think?_

“Well, you can sue me for all I’m worth and it wouldn’t make a difference in my future plans.You know, I get bad stomach pains from the amount of toil I do for hours on end.If that means anything.”

“Ah! Don’t put words in my mouth-”

“Listen, I hardly even care at this point.Just…”His hand came up to press his temples.“I hope life stays good for you, Betsy.Nothing m-more to say on my end.” He rolled up his sleeve, exposing his watch. “Time sure flies by.”

She wasn’t allowing this to end yet; her strongest wonder was left uncovered. “Did you ever love me, or was it only an _obsession?_ ”

 _Did you,_ he thought.“What would you have _liked_ it to be?” Her furthered puzzlement over his question prompted his answer: “I loved my own interpretation of you.In reality, can’t really find myself to feel for a slut.”

“Slut?” Betsy tried to stay calm, but her face was drained of its color.

“Sluts who play with men like musical chairs.” He was beginning to smile like it was amusing, which made the increasingly shocked Betsy feel out of place.She was quiet when he asked:

“Are you pregnant?”

“No sir, I’m not.I wanted to be a governor, you know.I wanted to bring about a better place, too…for whole generations.I wanted to travel, to try things, and I wanted to meet new people…I wanted to explore Egypt on a camel, for Pete’s sake.Reproduction was the last thing on my mind!”

“If you were…” he started, “..would you have kept it? Like, if it was mine?”

She wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but she reassured that it was impossible anyway, because he had never penetrated her.She stopped his argument on pre-cum as well, because that never occurred either.

“Let’s not talk about this.I just have a condition; something I need to take care of.That makes the both of us, am I right?” She attempted to tease him over a certain dysfunction.

_Take care of._

Travis’s bottom lip fell as his mouth downturned.His eyes hovered, partially shaded in shadow.His eyelids closed and his chin wobbled, while a high hum left his shutting mouth.A sheepish blanch had appeared on his pallid face.

“Aw, Travis…please, _please_ don’t cry!It breaks my heart.” 

She stood up to hug him, and he lightly blocked her arms.She then tried to touch his face, and he batted her hand.So she sat back down, rather confused.“I know what you’re trying to do,” he muttered, so softly it was barely heard.

He still kept Betsy’s last lesson: _“We’re just two very different kinds of people, that’s all.”_

This wasn’t the first time she disappointed Travis.He once thought she was a kindred spirit—the soulmate who could relate to him after he had long searched.After all, she was above the scum—like himself.She floated above them and she did not apply to their rules nor their chaos.Like himself, she was alone.Untouchable.Pure; a _Puritan_.

She cradled what was left of his “feeling” soul, and then abandoned him at the first sign of supposed trouble.She wasn’t what he thought she was at all.He suffered for it, but who knows if she was even bothered.

Now? She wasn’t even worth it.She was knee-deep in the swamp.

God, he couldn’t stand women, particularly the modern Western woman, sometimes.In his thinking, it was like the independence they were given, and the “pussy-passes" that inevitably followed, gave them the free rein to run roughshod.

It also had hurt when she wouldn’t give him a straight answer on pregnancy.Travis was unused to children in that he was an only child, but they were sometimes in his cab. He didn’t talk to them.He tried to ignore the brats in the back or the teenagers who trashed him or his cab.But he remained fascinated with babies, and they with him.They were pure, and Travis liked anything pure.

On one trip, a 1 year old girl was sitting on her mother’s lap in the back, and he turned around to wave at her.The baby smiled, turning her little hands in the air.The mother thought he was a creep, but Travis sometimes received warmer receptions.He knew fatherhood would likely never happen—he would be a poor excuse for a parent anyway—yet there was still a part of him that might desire it.

“Why is it that you…” Betsy was starting to shake her head.Wondering why Travis seemed to hate her after all.“…what’s wrong with me?” But she knew the answer.

She could wipe back tears the last time, but this time was different.“At least you love your family, right? Anybody?”

Travis uneasily shrugged.His pout and neck rub showed unreleased agitation.

Betsy’s voice came out sounding choked, or like a lost young girl’s.A tear had rolled down: “Why?” It was a senseless question from someone too dispirited to think.

Travis responded in the calmest, and possibly the _coldest_ tone to grace her ears:

“I-I don’t think I’m capable of it.” 

Several minutes passed by.The streetlight peeped through the shudders into the low-lit room.

Betsy walked past him like a wisp, headed to pour herself some water.“I wonder how my life would’ve played out if I was born a man.I feel like it may have suit me so much better.”

Was it bad that he found that kind of funny, or was it oncoming nervous laughter? He turned to her: “Not trying to be mean, but…”

Much too late for that!

A shaken Betsy didn’t have to say a great deal with her severe looks.She wanted him to leave before he over-stayed his welcome.There were the clunky, mannerly goodbyes, and then Travis left, knowing this was probably his last time inside.Or the last time he may talk to her—the woman who was meant to match him, not repel.

“Why don’t you get in the car?” He asked her from his own.

“I…Thank you, but, I can't.I’m, I’m good right where I am.”

“Why don’t you get in.”

“Goodnight, Travis.”


	33. In Knots Part 2

Travis self-isolated and was disconsolate for days.

He should’ve known.At least known that he wasn’t built for these comforts.Since this want was usually considered girlish, he wouldn’t share it or show it to anyone, including to Betsy on that night.He tried to shield it from breaking through.It was his last attempt to finally earn his place in her world, at her level. 

But he was passionate underneath, and longed for someone by his side.Who could care for him and who he could care for in return.Someone who understood, loved, and worked at his pace nonetheless.Intimacy in any form.

Those were faraway desires, now.Over-printed to the extent that they proved useless.He should’ve known better in attempting to break away from his title of “God’s Lonely Man” and the born instincts—and social class—that came with it.Gravity always has its way.

Besides, there was no such thing as “God’s Lonely Woman” to complement him.That was a contradiction.He reasoned that women weren’t designed loners.

“God’s Lonely Men” was another contradiction defeating the purpose.The plural term itself was inconsistent with the idea of _one_ who is alone.

Travis went back into his shell.He did what he tended to do when he was alone and depressed: consume negativity.His news readings this time involved hijackings, terrorist attacks, killings, and plane crashes.His two favorite stories were pinned to his wall. 

American Airlines Flight 96 had experienced a decompression accident mid-flight in 1972, but the smart, heroic captain landed it with every passenger alive.Travis admired him.Then there was the story of the outlaw who died in 1911, but his mummified body was used in shows and fairs.It was only discovered and verified last year by a film crew who thought it was fake.

For a bit, he stopped washing himself and brushing his teeth, other than gargling baking soda.He would walk around in just a t-shirt and boxers sometimes.

The next stage was eating.He ate odd and toxic concoctions, that with the ingredients and with how much he ate in one sitting would often induce vomiting.The soup made with whiskey, or the powdered sugar on his eggs.Like a kind of purge. 

A frequent dish was a bowl of sliced peaches, with a lot of whipped cream and maple syrup.He also continued drinking milk until he was dehydrated. Both served to represent Betsy, who he described with skin like milk, or peaches and cream.At first, he wanted to bottle her essence to smell, but now he simply consumed it.It was almost akin to a ritualistic cannibalism, but instead of eating flesh like a heathen, it was their bad energy.Travis was first and foremost a man of ritual.

And no longer was it just a fetish for blonde white women.It had become a sweet-as-peaches daydream to have them _all_ in his possession.How easy to picture a woman bound and silenced in front of him; harmed…vomiting and choking _themselves_ in order to feel his own pain.Like in the magazines he used to haggle for. 

It was stretching over him, infecting like a fungus intwined into a web.Twinging cordyceps of oversight and antipathy.Slowly disabling his poise and depleting his last stash of nourishment.

This violent and possessive urge was not unusual to him.But it was getting worse: he felt useful when he protected females, when their lives were entrusted in his hands, and he could treat them with generosity.His fear of others possessing those he loved in the terrible, violent ways the scum operates, was constant.What if, however, he did it to them? He destroyed them, and so possessed them, first? His last interaction with Betsy certainly gave him cause to snap her slender neck.

Of course, he would never, ever try any of that shit!He knew the divide between fiction and reality, even if many of his fares didn’t get the memo.He still tried desperately to get rid of these urges permanently, because it was upsetting his subconscious and led to berating himself. 

This was the kind of hatred he saved for people much sicker than he was, but it crept back.He wasn’t a horrible person—he just needed more light to see what was going on.

So Travis whipped back into shape.He concentrated on his new improvements, or his new preoccupations.Considered the possibility of goodness.At least his condo put that old apartment to shame, right?

He then showered, groomed, and cleaned: the small victories.He put his outlet into something more positive, and creative: writing and doodling in his journal, reorganizing his room, and deciding to buy sand and soil to create little dioramas.He would create cardboard cutouts and set the figures in these boxes, recreating scenes from his favorite, old Western and Samurai films.

Betsy started to slip from his worries, although she was never really at the top.He was happier, because loneliness was loosening its control over him.No longer would someone entrap him in emotion.He had a life ahead of him with a purpose reserved _for_ him.It was scary, but exciting.He was prepared to use his biggest weakness in life to his advantage, weaponizing it instead of agonizing over it.

He was alone, yes, but he was free!

Travis was very excited to tell this to the Giordanos, when he randomly popped in on a late night.Mildred was understandably infuriated; her husband’s murderer actually _expected_ a kind welcome.However, she kept her utmost composure and allowed him in for just a minute.He and Adam conversed while Mildred watched with fire. _Burn in hell._

After the outcomes in trying to reach Iris, Adam was rather depressed himself.He hoped his mother wouldn’t question him about the higher phone bill due to the recent long-distance call.But he was desperate after their last encounter, which he had felt was still cut way too short! Even with all her issues, she had more personality and courage in her pinkie than most of the city’s punks he knew.

Iris’s mother picked up instead.“Hello? Who’s calling?”Yikes.

“I’m…I’m a friend of your daughter’s…I was wondering if we could, um, talk?”

“What’s your name?”

“I just wanted to t-talk to her, ma’am.”

“Well she can’t.She’s down with strep-throat.”

“What…oh no! Dang it, I hope she feels better!”

“I’m asking you again, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh, sorry, I think I…have the wrong number…and the wrong girl.”

“The wrong number?”

“Wait, we’re-we’re breaking up…I can’t hear-” He quickly hung up.

Yikes!

Needless to day, he decided not to call again.He wondered, deep down, if maybe Iris didn’t want to speak to him, anyway.Despite all he did for her, she was likely too traumatized to accept his kindness for long, or even be around a _man_ for long.He tried not to let that hurt him, especially since he was aching to tell her about his prize-winning drawing, sports wins, and birdwatching adventures.

Adam ranted about the bullying he received in detention to Travis, as a cover for his real frustration.

“People.I’m sick of all of em, Adam.It’s the ladies who give me the hardest time.”

“Aye-aye, Cap.Tell me about it.”

“Surely not,” Mildred dryly began, glaring.“Good-looking and dashing young men…I wonder what they don’t see in you?”

He skipped his every meal that day, so she sent him home around midnight with leftovers: seafood quiche, rosemary bread and olive oil dip, and tiramisu.He also, for _whatever_ reason, took their extra milk bottles.

She was fuming once he left.Adam hoped she hadn’t poisoned any of it.

Travis was literally back in business by the next day. 

He stepped into the shop, and it was filled with new recruits, returning customers, and the former workers.Some were happy to see him alive, and others were angry that he had basically abandoned them.Some hardly ever saw him in the first place.One cabbie bravely asked why, _how_ he could be their “boss.”Travis could barely handle it himself, which was when he let others take control.

Charlie T was present, and congratulated him on the excellent broadcast.He was welcomed with other voices:

“That’s why Porsche _killed_ 24 Hours of Le Mans.”

“When Betty Crocker sucks off the Pillsbury Doughboy it’s called a dough-job!”

“I can’t, I got jury duty.”

“We need more articles on awareness.There’s been record numbers of taxi robberies…"

The buzz was centered around the new water-based equipment and supplies that came in.It was to make things easier and faster.And it meant drinks could be made alongside work.

The problem was, many of them had already drank a lot of the extra water supply, which came in a large bottle-like jug.No one had seen a water bottle before—a newer invention.Stinking tap water was the usual markup.So naturally, they wanted to drink from it.

When Travis wanted to know what happened to the last jug, they said they drank “portions” of it.They weren’t sure what to do, since they were unaware that jug was backup, and not something free.Travis went back to his car, then returned carrying a heavy, full jug on his shoulder. 

“Contingency planning,” Travis said, lowering it to the floor. “You’re welcome.”

The group were ashamed, especially the brave cabbie.Travis just proved his whole point.Ranbir, however, wasn’t paying attention.

Ranbir had his two children with him, who were finishing their Burger King meals.His little girl with the plait down her back was holding the colorful, bejeweled, paper crown they gave to kids.She saw Travis, and got up to see him.She ignored her father.

She looked up at him, offering the crown.When he realized what she was doing, he went down on one knee and bent his head with a smile.She placed it on his hair, then quickly hugged his neck.Travis gave her a squeeze. 

To finish the “ceremony,” Adam poured tiny droplets of the water onto his fingers.With a grin he sprinkled it over Travis’s forehead.

He sat down, allowing the two children to next to his sides, and Ranbir took a photograph.Then he ushered them back to their space.

A sarcastic man toasted with water: “To King Travis.”

“King Travis!” Rang out in unison.

Travis was in disbelief, if not tickled.The cruel irony of life, that this kind of person would become idolized.After the abuse and loneliness he endured, and the abuse he did unto others.

He soon called to mind his exchange with Tom, when he left and before Betsy’s discussion:

“One more thing,” Tom had noted, turning around on the sidewalk, “Have you ever heard Betsy scream? I didn’t think she could, until that night your cab, actually.That was quite the shebang.”

Travis was confused on whether Tom was joking or not.

“If you think she’s a beaut with her clothes on, you should see underneath.Thanks for letting us use your hack for it by the way.Would that be considered cuckolding?”

Travis was silent.He was clearly lost in thought until he moved closer to Tom: “Will you scream for me?”

Tom’s face fell. “What?”

Betsy was now watching them nervously, head peeking out and waving.Tom decided it was best not to put her in danger just for a stupid brag.So he laughed heartily.

“Look, I’m, I’m only playing around.Sorry—it’s this raunchy inside joke we have.Nothing serious.Anyway, have a good night!”

The helpless figure appeared detached, even a little overwhelmed from this “humor."It was a good thing that Travis seemed to find inner power at his most threatened and emasculated.And Tom’s earlier words didn’t stray: _“Is there a problem?”_

Travis didn’t feel like confronting Tom face to face again.Hopefully, just writing a simple message wasn’t further proof of his “spinelessness.”

Tom had a long night of booze and dancing wildly, limbs crazed, on the disco club’s lit-up dance floor.He met a beautiful black woman at the bar, who had the name Hannah and shimmering jewelry to match her shimmering outfit. 

They eventually grooved together after Tom admitted his work and relationship struggles in his stupor.Tom didn’t dare make it more than friendly.Trying to keep up, he was nimble, and caught a sip while spinning and stopping.

Tom would pass the money like a gambler to refill his cocktail.For somewhere so desolate, things were especially expensive in this city.He was lucky for his unique position, and the pay that came along with it.If only these frightening specters of what was very likely his life now would quit playing with his luck.

The disco lights, the music, and Hannah’s grin seemed to drown out his problems for a temporary time that night. 

He would narrowly remember it the next day.

Now he was home, and Bubbie wouldn’t talk to him as she was occupied with late night television.She had threatened to smack him if he interrupted.

“Oh—Thomas, there was a letter for you.I put it on the table.”

“Really? Okay.Thank you, Bubs.”

It had a pretty stamp, but Tom immediately opened it when he saw the sender.

_Thanks for the great night, Tom, and for all the laughs._

_I want to apologize for what I said, as well as for giving you and Betsy so much hassle for this long.I promise you that was never my intention._

_I’ll remember that funny sex story you told me the next time I clean out my cab.Can always come and watch, if you want.Can see how it’s done.I will remember the other thing you said too, but a bit earlier. I don’t find that I am what I used to be either.I believe you called it missteps?_

_I took what I had for granted, made way too many mistakes, and I lashed out on the belief that the world cornered me into it.I was always made fun of.It was hard for me to get what having a soul was even about, or what living is about.I just knew being poor and being a reject when I felt I was above that.Most men go through it, I would imagine.I’m sure you would agree!_

_I am no where near as obsessed with others like that.I have really accepted what people are and why they are.I can-not rightly point my fingers anymore when I have all that I have under my belt.Talk about a no-win game!Stuff goes on and I would rather not mope about it.It just is what it is._

_The thing is, I need to pinpoint something here.To answer your question, yes.There is most definitely a problem._

_I am planning to help others get out of that same, or similar states.I suppose I would be everywhere you look, until it has been ingrained into you what the problem is.I used to take it for granted then, but now I can start to see what is in front of me.It’s beautiful.I want to hear every single jibe you dish out at me, because I’m going to use it when I come in to lay rest to these problems.Anything helps.I should like to give my own problems a hard time._

_When the heat turns up, everything you and Palantine promised will come down to not a single thing, and all these years of politics and policies and figureheads shoved down my throat is going to be paid back full.I will still have done what I could.While you will have the destruction you were a part in indebted and rubbling at your feet._

_There will be a deep regret on what you did not, and could not, do.Sorrowful regret that I am quite confident will reach to the rest of us.They been forced to adjust your ladder for a good while.Is that not another problem?_

_You decided to take a ‘misstep’ instead of taking defense; cracking jokes as always even when life is staring you in the face.Likewise, your whole life will amount to those itty-bitty missteps on your ladder that looks to be splintering by the day.I know you like to think about dozy jokes but I hope you think even more about those screams you love.Since you will be hearing it more often._

_I had to say that, but I do hope we can still go on in relative peace.Again, I’m real sorry, and please tell Betsy this too.I know she loves you as much as you love her.You are a great fit for Betsy._

_I hope I am wrong, and things are mellow with you, my friend.I’m also sending my best wishes to your grandmother._

_\- Travis_

Tom caught his breath as his mind fuzzed.

It was possible that the king made another declaration of war.

————————————————

It was a summer solstice celebration.Travis and Christina were at the “June Start-Ups” job lane of such a local festival.Their tiny booth covered in blue tapestry, it held their printed examples.Other references, a donation box, name ballots, and taxicab stickers joined it.Anything else included sunlight and the breeze on their skin.

Christina was fidgety.There was a yellow bruise on her thigh from bumping into hard wood that she set in a cramped space.And someone cutting a lamb chop at a food stall made her think of other anatomies.It made her think of dismemberment.The bloody, mangled teeth on the pig’s head especially reminded her of what she dished out to Barton. 

She wasn’t distressed from it; she remained rather fascinated by the events.Actually, she looked back on it fondly as of right now.But it was best not to linger on it for too long, regardless.

Travis tried to grab a group’s attention, but they either weren’t interested or his voice just wasn’t loud and captivating enough. 

Finally, people began to recognize him, and their donations poured in.

Two haggard men arrived at the booth.They were curious as to what this was.By the patches on their shirts, they were Vietnam veterans.Travis introduced himself, thanking them for their service.He didn’t actually care that they served, he only knew that was the expected gesture.

“Travis Bickle—why’s that name sound familiar?” One chirped.

“It’s a famous name.Or it’s just a good name.” Travis smirked.

They started discussing a range of subjects, including Travis’s business, his comments on vets on the news, and their individual experiences in Vietnam.Somehow, it led into using military tactics within everyday life.Travis was referencing one of his first example articles: _Situational Awareness._ “It’s called situational awareness and not a lotta people have it,” he had said.Soon they talked about perimeters, spacial distancing, and strategies.

Christina thought none of it made sense. “What the fuck is a quadrangle? Trav, you’re pulling these words out of your ass.”

“It’s a real word! You know what a tesseract is, but not a quadrangle? Didn’t you have to take several physics classes?”

“Okay but if we were playing Scrabble, I’d be throwing challenges at you like it was nobody’s business.”

Travis cracked up harder than she’d ever seen him do.It was off-putting, because he _definitely_ wasn’t a “laugher.”

The vets started laughing with him.They liked Travis, but they were also charmed by the two’s banter (their “act,” so to speak), so they ended up signing the petition.They noted that they were complacent with change, ready to do whatever.

He had to come out of his shell if he wanted to be a leader.He was stoic and passive, but seeing him laugh brought more humanity to him.Flew past his answers that were brief, jagged, and coming from a mind far off. While he was a loner to the core, to be successful he might need another to bounce off of.

She didn’t mind any of this.She didn’t mind the image she had to put on to gain followers. That she really did amuse him.That she was a calming presence.But poking him with the stick so he can act in tandem could grow tiring. 

Imagining that she would soon find her own muse, Christina mostly wanted to reposition it for that audience.Even if she fed them lies they’d purchase her star product.Which, at the moment, was apparently Travis.

“Hopefully this all works out,” Travis said.“For the cash.If it don’t, then I guess we can always turn to the streets.We’ll just sell our bodies.”

Christina opened her eyes and raised her eyebrows while she took a swig from her root beer bottle.

It was quiet.That is, until Travis and a guy who came up and claimed he was a misanthrope formed a depressing conclusion about humanity.Christina looked on in folded arms and judgment.

“The last time I did this kind of event, there were many people who came up only to talk an hour or so about various gun holsters…which would be illegal around these parts.I could care less about fucking holsters, man.And they always act like they deserve a participation trophy.” He then started complaining about the taxi drivers who he found disrespectful.

“They’re jealous,” Christina answered.“You humiliated us all at that last meeting.They could learn from you if they weren’t so busy seeing the forest for the trees.”

“Yeah, probably.”

A part of warming up to Travis was flattering him.She didn’t do it all the time, but it was necessary.She did her homework on achieving power, or in her case, a certain goal.Leading was in her makeup too.

She learned to flatter and brag on him, but never outdo him.He had to feel secure. 

She leaned on him to an extent, but knew all too well that friends could be worse than enemies.

She defended her reputation, acted on problems, and showed him her own useful skills.

She never forced him into anything—he was always open to come her way by his own decision.

She often assisted him with his workload.She might try to tackle what burned him out and then check if he had taken his medication.There was mutual dependence and independence between them.Which was good.

She wavered on the truth depending on the situation.Sometimes her easygoing persona disarmed him, and he was easier to examine.

She focused on what made him feel gratified, not her.

She found that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and therefore, he might jump to action if there’s an emotional motive.

She liked asking vague questions to unwrap, but she tried not to annoy him.

She still teased him because it was fun to take the piss out of people every now and then.For example, she had asked Travis earlier how “Bend-Over Betsy” was coming along.

Having said she was willing, she was struggling to leave him totally alone—too much solitude was dangerous.And absence may make the heart grow fonder, but Christina was a bit hooked on her entertaining company!

She tried to encourage his and the others’ strengths as she discovered their weaknesses, both of which she might benefit from.

She advocated the sweeping change and broad ideas that they suggested.

She planned right along with him, as well as on her own.

She was _trying_ to admit to her mistakes.That wasn’t easy.

She couldn’t let herself become too comfortable.Again, not that easy.

These multiple tactics she’d gathered were exhausting to remember, much less actually fulfill day in and day out.There was no way to predict another’s behavior, and her ruses, well, they were a bit weak. 

That being said, she loved a challenge, and she kept on practicing.She discovered the knack for it from a young age, as far back as a child and telling her father that she was “craving” a certain food.He asked her if she wanted to eat it, and she would make excuses as to why she couldn’t.Her resistance fueled his own argumentative nature, and he would convince her that it was perfectly fine.And she got what she wanted to eat!

At an older age, there were the few times when she was sent to visit family in New York.She would have to pack and carry the luggage through the trailer’s narrow hall.The metallic sheet peeking under the wall would catch on the suitcases every single time, without anything to avoid it.She would trip, her mother would fuss, and it embarrassed her as any accident did—showing her as incapable and causing another’s overreaction.She could not stand it, so at one point she asked her brother if he could carry the bags into the kitchen, lying that she had pulled a muscle.He agreed, and each step happened to him instead. 

Travis was a far more complex challenge—she really didn’t know what she was signing up for.Expecting to keep a mentally ill, unpredictable rogue on a leash was naive, and his pulling and leash aggression only hammered that in.Travis was going to do what Travis wanted to do!

Christina actually held that mindset in high regard, but her frustration wasn’t going away.She really wanted this Professor Rawlings gone without a trace. It was assumed that Travis was the perfect man for the job.If his rage could be nursed toward Rawlings, then what?

It was horribly self-serving of her, and she knew it.This type of speech wasn’t uncommon between them.Once, she even straight-out suggested to him the option to send a pipe bomb to his address, perhaps with glass shards or a poison to disfigure him.He dismissed her with “crazy talk” and that was that.

What made it the most complicated was that Travis had a death wish.

Christina was aware that whatever she said or did could prove as help in his early demise.A few years ago, she would not have cared in the least if he died, or how.She was initially surprised to learn, in the papers, that the vigilante cabbie did not go through with offing himself.It was ironically, sadly comical.

She scorned suicide, but listening to and watching Tirade Travis for hours on end might just prompt her one of these days.

_I’m joking._

Something in this new line of work demonstrated to her that her customers, and those like them, were flesh and blood.They had their own value.And Travis in particular demonstrated that they could be kind to her without demands in return.

Remaining rather nonchalant about his possible, violent death, the sudden thought of it now, sitting loyally at his side, made her quite uncomfortable.The thought of losing him to his own devices.Forever, and not a thing she could do about it. 

He understood her…she felt a cough coming on-

——————————————

A well-dressed man spoke with Travis at the booth before donating.He passed his own business card in exchange.It outlined the “specialized van-driving business.”

Travis chucked the card into the air, and then caught it with his hand in different styles: “Check this out.”

“Ah, it does tricks!” She decided to join in on the bored-fun.She took out a one-dollar bill from her stash, then pointed out that an owl could be seen behind the top right “1.”

“…You’re bullshitting me.”

“Nuh-uh! Look here.” He peered over the dollar, to where she was pointing.

“See that background that almost resembles a spider web? There’s the tiny baby owl, _right_ in the corner.”

“Ah-hah.Wouldn’t ya know.” He grabbed it and flipped to the pyramid print on the back, with its Eye of Providence."Freemason symbols?”

“Stop wrinkling my future Blackjack paper!” She sniggered. “I wouldn’t put it _past_ the money-makers—using symbolism…like they’re so intelligent.You suck on the despotic dick until it’s shriveled and you would think you’re either a self-serving demigod or Confucius on crack, either metaphysics or moral…laws at your command.After trying to eat the apple hanging off the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, then you think you can just get away with about anything and flaunt it.I think they convince themselves that it’s something _good_ …stuffing their faces with it first, spooning shit down their throats and calling it sugar…”

She closed her mouth when a young man, nervous and agitated, lingered to their table.He seemed to be one of their kind.

“Travis…Bickle?”

“Yes?”

“I-It’s wonderful to meet you! So, so great! Hey, I was looking into driving a cab over the summer to provide for a bit…but I haven’t been feeling up to it all the sudden, or to myself.D-Do you have any advice for how to get through this rut? And what driving can do for me, personally?”

Travis referred to Christina, who had to come up with another intricate answer on the spot:

“If suffering isn’t something you get a kick out of as is the case with the rest of the human population….yeah, you can certainly overcome it with enough time.If you’re not apathetic and sitting down all day playing Chinese Checkers, instead of kissing the ground that you’re not from the generation who sent their kids to die for the Axis…twice.” She held up two fingers.“I know it’s difficult…”

She suddenly paused to swish and swallow her root beer.The other two were waiting.

“…but you have to start by changing your line of thinking.Stop stroking your postmodernist ego and playing the victim because you have nothing else to do other than hearing others confirm that you’re in the right and your collective outrage is justified.I understand, these, these disturbed thoughts we have put us in…a, a vicious cycle.You know, the mind is extremely powerful and it loves to play you for a fool.There’s your first issue to confront.Once you have that under your boot, uh, kept in check, I bet you’ll find you’re finer-tuned for life’s other battlegrounds, so to speak…the more realistic fights.And this is a battle.All of it.”

“—I see.Right on.” It turned a bit awkward as the man went steadied, and didn’t make eye contact with her.“I’m sorry, but I’d really love to hear what you have to say, Travis!”

Travis explained his own situation with very simplistic and negative terms, though he tried to turn it on its head by the end.He listed both the overall benefits and vices from his own experience.Christina thought what he said wasn’t that deep, and Travis could stretch the truth to his advantage, but the man seemed to relate to it.He was glad to hear it. 

It was somewhat similar to telling a joke that you personally thought was clever, but then another kid’s dumb jape won the attention.She brushed it off, although Travis’s complete lack of acknowledgment on it wasn’t as easy to ignore.

The young man saw the paper.

“How much?”

“Five dollars.”

Grinning, he took a copy.He dropped it and picked it back up, not forgetting to wave to his likeminded driver.

“It was nice of you to stop by.I hope you get some use out of it.”

“Have a great day,” Christina joined in, then spat on the ground. “Partner.”

After many more people and the resulting silence, Travis spoke to Christina in a very hushed tone.He missed her caustic comments.

“They always want to talk, but we don’t have all the time in the world.Usually about two years ago, I’d say.You don’t need to know everything about that, and I ain’t gotta tell you anyways.Are we just a massive public urinal?”

“Gross.” She felt the metallic bottle cap.“I’m beginning to wonder if I go overboard when I do speak up.I’m so invested in what I’m trying to spell out, I barely ever stop to consider that.Who knows what they think.Do you ever feel…that way?”

“Sure.I’ve weirded folks out when I had strong interests or opinions.”He rolled his eyes above him, and twisted a corner of his mouth.“Which would be most of the time.” Travis pulled out a cigarette to light it with cupped hands.“It’s a part of that intense personality you have.”

It was about time to pack up.Somewhere nearby, a husband and wife sounded like they were arguing fiercely, the wife particularly infuriated over what he said.

Christina looked behind her, despite it being impossible to spot them.“Lord Almighty, someone’s making a racket.”

Travis mumbled through his cigarette, which he only took one drag of before shuffling and putting away the pack: “I hear a screaming bitch.It doesn’t matter; all of em cheat eventually.”

“The only bitch I hear is coming out of your mouth.”

For that quick moment come and gone, he was dead quiet.Then there was a slow smile that unveiled his pointed teeth.His laugh was low and dark while he burned the card with his flag lighter. “God help whoever crosses you in a dark alley.”

The card’s corner twinged orange and burned black, until it had curled.Travis flicked it onto the ground to stomp out with his shoe as a happy couple was coming forward.

“Hey…Hey!” Christina barked.She had slightly leaned, her arm outstretched and her hand held up in a stopping motion.

They froze.It was clear that she intimidated them.

“Sir, Madam, we’re about to close down for the evening.I suggest you just—”

“No, it’s okay.I think I have an extra flier in the car.Christina, could you go get that? It’s on the left seat.”

“All right, let’s talk for another forty minutes…” she whispered.

“Go,” he told her under his breath, more assertively this time.She left her comfy spot and walked the distance to the parking lot.

Stands were being taken down in rhythm to the sun moving down the sky.

Travis definitely had the opposition.What was surprising was just how many _agreed_ with him! How many recognized him from news sources then and now.A former cab driver admitted that he was a good representative for what the rest were too scared to say. Despite evidence that Travis’s approach was prone to recklessness. 

There was a good amount of personal information written in front of him that reinforced his need to know about others.

These feelings never reached their full potential in that tangle of wires he called a brain.The happy couple reflected the wounds he had recently earned, and the arguing couple was the salt.In addition, fantasies of achieving fame were stifled in a burgeoning fear of the unknown, and the resulting chaos if he couldn’t contain his new environment—or his own failures.At a certain point he would rather _not_ be recognized or relied on.Not with recurring triggers.

It was probably time to be alone.“I’ll be right back.”

Christina gave an upwards glance before counting the amount diligently.She did not speak, or move from her seat.

Travis wandered into the surrounding crowd.They shouldn’t rustle him if he cut them off beforehand.

—————————————

He certainly was _not_ “right back.” Actually, he was gone for a while. 

Christina felt a prick of concern, which was irregular for her.

She entered the crowd and looked in every direction.Hustling to the side after she was in the way.

“Tra-” Her voice suddenly cracked, as it always did when she tried to yell.

_“Travis!”_

It was tough to avoid the stares when she bellowed with her hands as a megaphone.

….

There was a small concert area, covered in a tent’s drape and tubular lightbulbs on strings.

Travis escaped into this area in order to sit in a metal chair.He focused on the scrunched up, dirty paper in his hand fit to resemble a stress ball.A plastic bag was at his side.

He saw gravity unfolding the sheet in reverse when he felt sudden, strong hands sink into his shoulders.A bony jawline had barely touched his cheek, and Christina’s mouth was an inch away from his ear, where he could feel the heat in her clear breath.“Stop trying to hide from me” she whispered in a purr.

Travis flinched a little as was common with veterans.But his reaction was calm, or even delayed: “Fuck…I wouldn’t do that.Don’t do that.”

“So much for situational awareness.”

Quietly, she arched her leg over the chair in front of her, and next to Travis. As usual, he was checking his surroundings, always anticipating the next example in unpredictability.He saw that there was another person sitting down: a bald man sitting in the row across.His arms were crossed and he was nearly asleep.

Christina looked at him curiously, perhaps wondering where he had gone.Travis answered for her: “I had to find some food, what with how late it’s gotten.” He eased on the ball of paper to show: “Hot dog.”

She nodded, though she could care less for something as commonplace as hunger.She didn’t know what she would eat tonight, if she even would eat.Finishing these numbers and proper sleep were becoming more important. 

From the plastic bag he took out a sizable, white paper bag of onion rings.It had faint grease stains on the bottom unlike the serrated edge on top.He held up a ring in front of her:

“Will you marry me?”

Christina sharply turned: eyes zoning in and still processing what he just said. 

“Sorry but this is the best damn ring I could find—as greasy as the city’s afterbirth.You can say yes, and thank me later.”

It was then that Christina realized he was only playing around.This heartbreak of his wasn’t subsiding as quickly as he’d like, so this stupidity was his last resort.Humor had never come naturally to him.

“No.” 

“Why?”

“Because you like sticking needles into your dick, not unlike Albert Fish.”

“What’s not to like?” Travis and Christina smiled at each other, although it was a _very_ good thing Travis didn’t know who he was being compared to.He then offered her the ring again:

“Not hungry?”

She only coughed.

“Come on, take it. I got it for you, I know it’s your favorite.”

“Well look at you,” Christina held out her hand.“Screw it, now I have no choice but to accept your proposal…as…Christina Bickle?”

She could barely lift her ring finger above the other digits.As she moved it, it trembled with arthritic strain.Travis felt a morsel of sympathy as he hooked the onion ring onto the second knuckle.

He had noticed that the man across opened his eyes to look at them.He was listening to their conversation with obvious irritation.Unknown to both, he considered them to be two guys.Travis was hitting on the other, hesitant young man.He had to get up and leave, with a judgmental glare.Travis returned the glare while Christina had no awareness of any of it.

Rather, she was quick to play along: “First things first, where will the ceremony be?"

“Uh, a church?”

“A church, what church? Hubbard’s Church of Scientology?”

“It oughta be a Lutheran church in my hometown, with the traditional vows.It needs to be modest, but short.I’d want that shit over with.And Wiz can be my best man.”

“Well, I should write to my family about the big news.And the honeymoon?”

“Expensive.Unless we got frequent flyer miles.”

“It _better_ be in Australia.I want to learn how to play the didgeridoo.” First it was bagpipes, now the didgeridoo.

But he didn’t seem to hear her option. “What about Alaska, or Montana? How ‘bout the Carolina coast? Not, uh, n-not some third-world place?”

“Oh, not everything in the Third World is a hell-scape, Trav, you know that….but I’m not wavering on Australia.”

“Okay, Australia.”

“We should allow the, what, _ten_ trusted guests we invite…to starve before they’re fed,” she said.“I think it instills good discipline into a guest.Also, instead of cake we’ll have pies; you’d enjoy that, right?”

“You know me well.I say banana cream.”

“With only non-alcoholic beverages…and in goblets, because what the hell.”

“Now you know, it would mostly be for the financial benefit.I found out that a joint bank account has its ups.”Continuing in his almost serious explanation: “After we discuss everyday on what to do, we can go our separate ways, and sleep in our own beds.But we sure do work well together.”

Christina spoke with slight sentiment. “You just have to promise me, that-that we wouldn’t divorce.My folks went through a nasty split, and I would rather not relive it.I know: when we inevitably become really fucking sick of one another, and our dreams go up in flames, we have to dispatch whoever crosses the line first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”He made a peculiar, cutting movement with his hands.“I wonder why people decide to settle down.I would—”

“Cool your jets!” The “joke” and the following role-play went on far too long, and was stepping into _weird_ territory—too weird for Christina.What man obsesses over weddings and partners? Imaginary at that?

She switched to munching on the cold onion ring around her finger.

——————————————

It was another long evening trying to hone conclusions.

Christina was so focused on the many books and blueprints thrown onto her mattress, that she just now realized she had been holding the empty onion ring bag and that same one-dollar bill right to her chest.She shook her head when she almost threw the dollar into the trash along with the bag.

She reviewed her plans for Palantine’s desk, carefully crafted, and tossed it back down.She stretched her leg to the floor, her foot slowly sliding across the carpet until her thigh nudged a book dangerously close to the edge of her bed.Then she leaned her head back to sigh.

“Oh, kitty.What are we gonna do, kitty?”

St. Augustine replied by popping his claws on the scratching post.

Christina decided to move to her compact room.It had the small work desk and the boxes of files upon tax forms upon receipts.She left the door open to hear what the cat might get up to.

Pulling the faux-brass, beaded switch that hung down, she turned on her banker’s lamp with its green glass lampshade.Light and dust flooded over more plans and drawings.Geometric measurements, tools, and tired deductions.She traced lines in attempts to sketch a more recent concept, even as her hand smudged when she wiped it.

Yep, it looked awful.Drawing was Adam’s talent.

She had long considered taking up carpentry, but she was unsure what credentials were required and where to begin.She had the ongoing sense that she should indeed take on another job, and a pastime better suited to her hobbies.Likely to serve as an example for the company’s goals.

The “company.”Even trying to take it completely seriously in her mind was an amusing task. It implied that it was to last, and it had solid ground to stand on.A good amount of what she did involved her own desires behind the “company.”That, or completing a workload for someone else because she was—hm, hardworking? Opportunistic, maybe?

Her current wood-finished focus was on Palantine’s desk.This was not only a personal project to complete for her own assurance in her ability, but another opportunity for her to take on.Travis had a lengthy discussion with her over what Palantine could be connected with.He became shifty when it changed to how they might act in return.It sounded over-the-top as to be expected, but she wouldn’t miss this _opportunity_ to potentially _strike_ at a political and “famous” figure (rather a chickenhawk puppet in her view).If she could at least say she did. 

But ideas were far and few in between.Not supple procrastination, however.

Perhaps that was why she suddenly groaned. 

The facet joints in her neck’s vertebrae were throbbing to where she carefully massaged and pinched the knots at her core.Eyes closed, she pulled out a drawer to remove a round canister with the outline of a marijuana plant on its lid.She applied the strong-smelling salve containing CBD oils.

The old birthday, holiday, and congratulatory cards and letters stuffed into the drawer caught her attention. Well-contained and they still collected dust.She blew it off and reordered the materials to her satisfaction.

They were all from her family members.Christina had a huge family on both sides, stretching across states from Mississippi to New York.Most preferred to keep in touch, and most celebrated every single event for almost every person—how they remembered was lost on her.She only sent her succinct, formal thank you cards when she could.Repeating “I love you” only because that was the polite expectation.It was no different to the public saying “thank you” out of habit and not its actual meaning.

They remembered her, alright.How could they not? She won the academic awards and achieved the grades; she achieved the social recognition—good or bad—that many of them never had the chance to.It would bother her if she wasn’t so indifferent.Many letters thrown into the mail slot inquired about her present life and what she’s accomplished.

If only they could see her now, huh?

Not much. 

Not much of anyone or anything.

And yet they clearly loved her.Her brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, relatives, last living grandparents—they all expressed their love for her in their own well-thought-out words and praises.They each recalled her birthday as the time to send their best wishes from the whole family.Not counting the friends of the family who caught word.Many of them knew her from childhood, and had watched her.In the cases of Uncle Franco and Aunt Wilma, they kindly invited her into their homes when she was in need, and gave their utmost care.

None ever brought up her case.Although Christina, at times, had silently _dared_ them to.

How was she supposed to deal with this? How was she supposed to reason that these were legitimate acts, commonly known as selflessness, that she actually deserved? Did she do something, did she have something…what was she missing here?

Specific things that were simple to understand for the average individual were harder for Christina to gauge, even if she was otherwise just as normal.Love as both a concept and an emotion was a big one.

It was confusing.How was love even defined, and who defined it? Wasn’t love for family a different brand than “romantic” love? Love of habits? Love of occupation? Love of ideas? Love of self? Even love and lust were often jammed together into something it’s not.

Some might say that love is meant to soothe angst in a social species.It might be the result of a biological impulse or hormonal overdose: oxytocin and pheromones souring past the acceptable limits.

In any way, Christina had trouble pigeonholing it, although she identified it as real.It was silly and pretentious to suggest this wasn’t the case.She understood by observation and measurement, and an emotion couldn’t be quantified.But it _was_ a powerful phenomenon!

She was a fine pet owner.She thought she may have loved RJ, when she would lie down and repeat “I love him.I love him so much,” so as to make it sound real.

After their fallout and with the time to reflect and heal from it, she increasingly wondered whether it was really romantic, or that she simply “loved” the _backdrop_ in his feelings.The idea that someone could fall for her…dedicate themselves to her, disregarding logic.That she could be noticed and picked out from the crowd.

She cared for her family to a degree.Making the right sacrifices for them was something she enjoyed.If anything, seeing the cards again actually made her rather nostalgic! They were a known constant in her life, and she longed for those constants. 

In fact, concerning her own, her mother was the picture perfect example.A mother’s love wasprobably then the most convincing form to Christina.

The only family member it was rare to hear from, was her father.

It all motivated her to call her mother. 

She would always promise to call her, and on came a full workday, a project, or a nap, and she forgot.Calling her was also expensive and arduous with the long distance.Phone calls could be a boring chore.Somedays she simply did not bother.

Tonight, she yearned to hear her advice in her drawling voice.Mrs. Shirley would stay up late, so the two typically reached each other around this time. 

Her mother picked up sounding a bit tense.Her granddaughter Deidre, Isaac’s child, was staying the night.She was still up and about, causing a ruckus and refusing to sleep. 

Christina listened to the whole story, mentally noting that she eventually should make the effort to see her only niece.She hadn’t seen that girl since she was born about four years ago.Born to her reformed brother Isaac and his wife Colleen.Colleen she had met with only sparsely.

“Woo, anyway.How are you doing, doll? You ain’t checked in with your Mama.You’re heartless, I tell you, heartless!”

“I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Not as heartless as Ed.That boy refuses to write me back, even when I beg for just a goddamn postcard.”That was _probably_ because her brother Ed was preoccupied on low-budget film sets in LA.

“There’s this new department store that just opened up around here, real big! I figure that when you next visit, we have to go shopping, you and me.Wouldn’t that be fun? We’ll get you some girl stuff that I already know you need.Ah-ah! Deidre, no baby, put that down…”

Christina cut to the chase.Any extended lawsuits and any naysayers in town were integral to know.Her mother was hesitant to admit that on both counts, there were signs.The unholy union between the state bourgeoisie and federal law had not yet come down onto her accusers as hard as she wanted it to.They had no problem tormenting her for years, however.She could almost admire that special level of sadism.

It was after she filled her mother in on her health and anything related and ongoing—and vice versa—that Christina felt emboldened to the next topic.

“Mom, I have…my concerns, with this specific person.I usually don’t react like this, at least not all the time.I know that going overboard with these emotions, it can lend you nothing outside of sheer pain, so I’ve mostly tried to remove them.Sometimes I worry a bit over his well-being.I think about him…leaving, and it just makes my pulse race to high-heaven.Is it possible…to find yourself more attached to someone, more than you probably should be? Aren’t we _supposed_ to be tender-hearted? So, why does it seem like…I _shouldn’t_ feel this way?”

“Goodness gracious.Now darlin, how many times have I told you that it’s perfectly alright to feel these things, and it’s perfectly alright if it’s harder for you to.But if it’s really frustratin’ you, then don’t you get obsessive, and don’t you be selfish.You can’t save ‘em.All around you are other people and things to consider….but I do understand.”

“Also, if a guy proposes to you with food, what exactly is that supposed to signify?”

“Someone proposed to you? Oh God, deep down I always, always hoped that for you and Ed! But I don’t know if Eddy has a lady friend or not, he’s the loner—hold on, ya said food?”

Christina backed it up as her mother tried to control her hyperactive granddaughter (“Exactly like her daddy!”) and listen at the same time.

“This the same person?”

Yes.

“What is he like?”

“Um, well…let’s see.He lives close by, and he drives taxis, so there’s that.He used to take appointments at my station, and I’ve examined his cab before.It was assigned to me.”

“That’s it? What about, is he a nice, good soul?”

“Reasonably.”

“Is he _physically_ attractive to you?”

“…Yeah.” Well, she was still a human being with functioning eyeballs.

“Huh, there ya go! Sounds like you got yourself a little crush to me.Nothing wrong with that, Christina.But if it’s a good thing there, you have to keep it that way, point blank.I’m sure he knows it.”The way the mother had to explain this to her daughter was telling.Considering that she had to certify her age to Wizard, she was sporadically talked down to on emotional capacity and empathy like one would to a second-grader.

“It doesn’t sound pretty fucking weird?”

“Of course not!”

Mrs. Shirley knew her daughter was interested in men, but couldn’t remember the times she outwardly expressed it.Either she was too self-conscious, or she avoided it because she decided it was not an important matter.If she was bringing someone up, then they must be important.

Christina was usually surrounded by men, and she regarded them as anyone else: a potentially boring colleague or a potentially exciting competitor.If they were really _that_ attractive, then oftentimes her best bet was to just observe and lust from afar.Jack and RJ were the only prominent “men” in her life.While they were brilliant, burrowing themselves into her sentiments, Travis, compared to the whole lot _,_ was just…different.He was entirely his own creature. 

“It might not be hunky-dory in the long-run.Remember what I said, though.”Her mother couldn’t help but gush in spite of it. “Aw, this is just too precious!”

“It’s _not!_ ”

That led to a pause.

“Mm…I tell ya what, if it _does_ end up workin’ out, go and bring him down here with you.I have to meet this fella who’s put the spell on my _heartless_ daughter.You and your brothers should be givin’ me some more grand-babies!”

An annoying tactic from her mother was that she had this very subtle way of guilting you.Her three adult children were the common targets.

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!”

“You’re right, this girl makes up five in one…No! Get down from there!”

Christina promised to talk to her again soon.

“I hope so! Please pray for me like I pray for your endeavors.”

“I always pray for you, Mama.”

“Why thank you, Sugar.Goodnight, now.”

Free of the wall phone, Christina lifted her shirt to pick out belly button lint with a pencil.

She knew her mother had a point, despite her far-off conclusions.Christina prided herself on being so unlike the women who allowed “passions” to control their every whim.Who catered for the sake of catering, and ruined themselves all the same.

She and Travis were a balancing act—it was like they got a high off of each other.When it was calm, he would reveal to her what he could not without a psychologist.There was trust and respect involved even when Christina used these revelations to advance herself.She was flattered when he confessed that he “felt better” after he exchanged with her alone.During these quiet moments she would study him: his patterns, mannerisms, and his facial features.She was exceedingly fond of his mole, and had been since the day they met.That face of his could go from soft, to ready to tear prey apart like a lion.

A magnificent, magnificent lion…

Okay, perhaps she fancied him _a little._

It was hard to tell if it was attraction or just admiration.If she wanted to be with him or if she wanted to _be_ him.He had the public’s attention.He had traits she desired, and the masculine looks she wanted.

He was even fucking prettier than she was!

They were rivals at their worst, business partners at the minimum, and at their strongest it resembled the brother-sister type of bond.They understood their many similarities, and often found common ground.Their differences were sharp, but nonetheless expected.

It could be that while she would deny it, he was certainly as much a comfort to her as she was to him.Yes, she was malicious; but she felt safe with him, and ready to express.

It could also be that there was little to no room for a love interest.

What she needed was family.The constant.

Christina was raised with two brothers who helped to mold her character.They taught her what they could with the age difference.Arguably they were her first friends.

She realized that she may have attached that figure to Travis, now that she was older and apart.Something about him was reminiscent, but she could not distinguish who or of what.

…

 _Notwithstanding,_ she recognized what went a little beyond that.They weren’t _literally_ blood-related, so no harm, no foul in whatever she felt. 

Because the little candle wick lit aflame, burning in her soul—and her loins—whenever she thought about him in another respect, told her a different story.

She wouldn’t mind dragging him to her family reunions where they caught sight of the handsome hero on her arm.Her trophy boyfriend, and not merely someone she brought along.Not that he was territory to be bought and owned, but she was content to claim her stake.

Christina also imagined a dreary, rainy day, where she was outside in the water and mud and had won a championship.He greeted her with a victory kiss, nearly lifting her off the ground in his warm arms.He was in total admiration.That is, if she wasn’t too heavy for him.He’s a svelte gentleman.

She banished away those fantasies for now.No matter what this turned out to be, she wouldn’t _dare_ cross any boundary with him.Ruining their platonic, unique friendship was not the notch she wanted on her post.She wasn’t too keen on further aggravating a head-case, anyway.

As long as she contained that candle’s flame and avoided a raging forest fire.Not only in this case, but for each of her dubious hankerings—

—like the slick idea that finally occurred to her for Palantine’s gift.

The better controlled you are, the better off you will be.

After all, wasn’t that a frequent life lesson?


End file.
